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In  Amity  Court.     Page  36. 


THE 


CHILDREN  OF  AMITY  COURT. 


LOUISE  M.  TIIUESTON, 

AI7TH0B  OF    "HOW  CHARLEY  KOBKKTS   BECAME  A  MAN,"   "  HOV  ■"'*■  HOBSBTS 
GAINED  HEK  EDUCATION,"    "  HOME  IN  THE  "WEST." 


"There  are  gains  for  all  our  losses, 

There  are  halms  for  all  our  pain; 
But,  when  j'oiith,  the  dream,  departs. 
It  takes  something  from  our  hearts. 
And  it  never  conies  again. 

'Something  beautiful  Is  vanished. 

And  we  sigh  for  it  in  vain: 
We  behold  it  everywhere, — 
On  the  earth  and  in  the  air. 
But  it  never  comes  again." 


BOSTON 
LEE  AND  SHEPARD  PUBLISHERS 

lO      MILK      STRBET 


Bntered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  iSTi, 

bt  lee  and  SHEPARD, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


%f£tcixannidio  §ttiituttis 


ANDREW   CHAMBRE    CAMPBELL. 


2229062 


CONTENTS. 


^APTKB  PAOX 

I.    Hannah  Craig 9 

IL    Ajmity  Court 22 

HI.    The  Birds'  Nest 33 

rV.    The  Birds  in  CouNCHi 44 

V.      COBDEN  AND  CO 67 

VI.  Brisk  Business    .        .        .        .        .        .       .       .69 

VII.    Plans 82 

Vni.     "Amity  Meg" .        .94 

IX.    What  Happened  to  Jemmy 101 

X.    Jemmy's  Luck 116 

XI.    The  Ladies 128 

XIT.    The  Landlord 143 

XIII.  One  Less 157 

XIV.  Louis  LeGrange 174 

XV.    Being  a  Girl 188 

XVI.  Mr.  Saunders's  Operations     ....            199 

XVn.    A  EiEcognition 212 

XVin.    Bestobation 221 


THE  CHILDREN  OP  AMITY  CODET. 


CHAPTER     I. 


HANNAH    CRAIG. 


JAMES  CRAIG'S  barber-shop  in  Campfields  was 
closed.  It  had  been  closed  for  a  week.  There  was 
a  strip  of  black  crape  hanging  from  the  door-knob,  and 
another  from  the  striped  pole.  Inside  the  shop  the  yellow 
shades  cast  a  subdued  light.  'Everything  was  set  in  a 
solemn  sort  of  order.  There  was  not  a  brush  or  a  razor 
awrj^  in  its  place  ;  and  a  gloomy  silence  reigned  where 
but  few  weeks  since  were  plenty  of  lounging  talkers, 
plenty  of  news  and  gossip  retailed,  and  plenty  of  busi- 
ness done. 

Beyond  the  shop  were  the  little  parlor  and  kitchen 
of  James's  home.  But  these  too  showed  an  unwonted 
stillness  and  an  unnatural  order.  The  parlor  was  a 
bedroom  as  well.  A  plump,  ruddy-faced  boy  lay 
asleep  in  a  large  crib,  and  on  the  pillow  of  the  other 


10  THE   CHILDREN    OP   AMITY    COURT. 

bed  a  cloud  of  fine  black  hair  shaded  the  delicate  and 
strangch'  womanly  face  of  a  little  girl. 

In  a  low  rocker  by  the  table  sat  the  mother  and 
widow.  She  had  been  putting  a  few  needful  stitches 
into  a  little  garment  for  Jemmy,  and  now  leaned 
back  wearily,  and  rocked  slowly  and  thoughtfully  to 
and  fro.  Her  mood  was  restless.  The  sorrow  and 
anxiety  that  had  filled  the  past  week  had  settled  into  a 
stead}'  purpose.  She  could  no  longer  stay  here,  and 
she  had  now  decided  what  was  wisest  to  be  done.  In 
the  cit}'  she  had  many  acquaintances,  and  could  there 
find  plenty  of  such  work  as  she  could  best  do.  In 
CampficUls  was  little  opportunit}^  for  her  to  earn  a 
livelihood.  She  must  go  to  New  York.  Hannah  was 
an  excellent  laundress.  Many  wealthy  f.irailies  who 
had  known  her  in  the  ten  long  years  she  had  been  Mrs. 
Roberts'  nurse  for  Eva,  would  perhaps  yet  remember 
her.  From  them  she  hoped  to  secure  employment.  At 
any  rate,  the  efTort  should  be  made,  and  the  sooner  the 
better.  So  she  had  set  to-morrow  as  the  day  to  leave  her 
home,  go  to  New  York,  and  see  what  could  be  done. 
The  children  should  go  with  her.  They  had  never  seen 
the  city,  and  there  had  been  too  much  of  gloom  over 
their  3'oung  lives  in  the  past  weeks  of  their  father's 
sickness  and  death.  She  could  leave  them  at  the  house 
of  her  old  friend,  Jane  Cook,  who  was  nurse  for  Mrs. 
True's  Minnie  when  she  was  at  Mrs.  Roberts'.     Jane 


HANNAH    CRAIG.  11 

Cook  was  married  now,  and  lived  in  a  decent  house  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  city.  The  children  would  have  a 
fine  day,  watching  the  passers  from  Jane's  window. 

These  plans  had  all  been  made  a  day  or  two  ago. 
Hannah  was  only  dreamily  thinking  them  over  and 
approving  them  as  she  sat  rocking  so  slowly.  Lines 
of  care  had  come  into  her  face  in  the  last  few  years. 
She  was  also  troubled  with  a  growing  deafness,  and  the 
effort  to  hear  had  added  to  its  anxious  expression.  But 
she  was  resting  now.  Her  mind  went  back  to  those 
years  —  hapi)y  years  before  her  marriage  —  when  she 
served  in  the  grand  house  of  Mrs.  Robei'ts  in  New 
York  City,  when  she  took  care  of  P2va,  who,  like  her 
own  Nora,  never  made  any  trouble,  and  there  was  only 
pleasure  in  the  care.  It  was  two  years  since  Charley 
and  Eva  Roberts  had  come  out  to  see  her  before  going 
away  to  the  West.  How  she  wished  there  was  one  of 
all  the  Roberts  family  in  New  York  City  now,  to  whom 
she  could  go  for  advice  and  assistance !  But  they 
were  all  far  away.  So,  with  a  sigh,  Hannah  arose, 
laid  away  her  work,  and  began  to  [)repare  for  the 
night. 

As  she  moved  about  the  room,  the  little  black  head 
stirred.  A  pair  of  soft  black  e^'es  peeped  through  the 
long  lashes,  and  watched  her  movements.  Hannah  was 
not  long  in  observiug  it,  and  smiled  down  at  them  as 
she  tm'ned  towards  the  bed. 


12  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mamma?  You  looked  as  if 
you  -wanted  to  cry,"  said  Nora. 

"Did  I?"  replied  Hannah,  absently.  "I  was 
thinking." 

"  What  were  j'ou  thinking  about  ?     Papa  ?  ** 

"  No,  not  just  then.  I  was  wishing  Miss  Eva  were  in 
New  York,  so  I  could  go  and  talk  with  her.  It  would 
be  such  a  comfort !  " 

"  Perhaps  she  is  there." 

"  No.     She  went  away  to  Chicago." 

"  But  that  was  a  long,  long  time  ago.  She  may 
iave  come  back  now." 

"  No.     She  has  not  come  back." 

*'  Why?    Is  n't  she  ever  coming  back?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  She  will  come  back  to  see  you,  sometime." 

"  O,  no !  She  would  never  come  all  the  way  for 
that." 

"  Well,  then,  to  see  other  folks.  Are  n't  there  lots 
of  folks  in  New  York  she  knows  and  will  want  to  see  ?  *' 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Perhaps  she  will  come  sometime." 
And  Hannah  was  somehow  comforted  by  the  thought, 
as  she  often  before  had  been  by  the  kind  child-thoughts 
of  little  Nora. .  "  If  I  could  only  find  the  card  they  left 
with  their  address  on  it,  I  think  I  would  write  to  Miss 
Eva.     But  it  is  lost." 

"  I  'm  afraid  Jemmy  got  it,"  gravely  suggested  Nora. 


HANNAH    CRAIG.  13 

Jemmy  did  so  much  mischief,  he  generally  had  the 
credit  of  all  that  was  done  or  suspected.  But  now  he 
slept  unconsciously  through  the  charge. 

Vt  remember  her.  mamrat.,."  "esnmed  Nora,  after  a 
dreamy  silence  '•  Miss  Eva  was  just  like  the  picture 
of  an  angCi  m  my  story-book,  that  F  got  for  speaking 
a  piece  in  Sundaj'  school.  She  nad  just  such  pretty, 
shining,  j^ellow  hair  curling  all  down  her  neck  and 
shoulders,  —  only  the  angel's  hair  was  n't  cui'led  nicely, 
and  hers  was,  —  and  just  such  dear,  pleasant  blue  eyes. 
I  was  a  little  girl  then.     It  was  ever  so  long  ago." 

Hannah  smiled  ;  then  she  said,  "•  Miss  Eva  was  about 
the  best-behaved  little  girl  I  ever  knew." 

"  If  I  am  very  good,  mamma,  shall  I  ever  grow  to 
look  like  her  ?  —  like  an  angel,  I  mean  ?  "  asked  Nora, 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  will.  You  often  remind  me  of 
her,"  replied  Hannah,  as  she  smoothed  the  jet-black 
hair  over  the  pillow,  and  kissed  her  little  girl. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can,"  said  Nora,  slowly,  holding 
up  her  hair  to  the  light  and  looking  through  it.  "  I 
don't  look  at  all  like  her,  and  my  hair  has  n't  turned 
yellow  a  bit." 

"  You  can  never  make  your  hair  yellow  or  j'our  eyes 
blue,"  said  Hannah ;  "  but  being  good  will  bring  the 
lovingness  and  kindness  up  into  your  face  as  it  is  in 
Eva's." 


14  THE   CHILDREK   OP   AMITY   COURT. 

Nora  was  not  satisfied.  She  lay,  holding  up  her  haii 
and  gazing  at  it  with  a  sad  and  thoughtful  face.  Han- 
nah saw  it,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  This 
thoughtful,  earnest  child-woman  was  the  greatest  bless- 
ing and  comfort  of  her  life.  She  loved  her  with  a  re- 
spect, as  well  as  strength,  which  few  mothers  mingle  in 
their  parental  affections . 

Tears  were  gathering  in  Nora's  dark  eyes  too. 

"Angels  never  have  black  hair,"  she  said,  slowly  and 
softly,  with  a  quiver  of  her  rosy  lips.  She  was  afraid 
her  dark  locks  might  shut  her  out  of  angelhood  forever. 

"  I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Hannah,  quietly. 

"Don't  you?" 

"  No.     It 's  nonsense." 

"  What  is  nonsense  ?  " 

"  That  angels  should  not  be  as  likely  to  have  dark 
hair  as  light.     Angels  are  only  people." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Nora,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes.     Your  papa  is  an  angel  now." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Nora,  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  But  his  hair  is  n't  yellow,"  Hannah  continued,  com- 
ing to  the  bedside  again. 

"  Unless  —  unless  he  has  changed  it,"  suggested  Nora. 

"  If  he  has,  I  suppose  you  can,"  replied  the  mother, 
smiling  to  see  the  light  come  back  to  Nora's  face,  as 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  relief,  — 

"  So  I  can." 


HANNAH   CRAIG.  15 

Then  Hannah  put  out  the  light,  and  soon  both  were 
asleep. 

.Jemmy  made  sure  of  their  being  wide  awake  early- 
next  morning.  Going  to  the  city  was  an  event  in  his 
life  only  to  be  compared  with  one  other,  and  that  was 
the  circus  which  had  been  in  town  last  summer,  and  to 
which  he  had  been  taken,  as  a  great  treat,  by  Lester 
Gree.  Jemmy  had  reckoned  by  it  ever  since.  Every- 
thing happened  either  before  or  after  the  circus,  in  his 
calendar. 

Breakfast  was  soon  over,  and  everything  in  the 
kitchen  had  once  more  assumed  the  prim  order  of  the 
previous  evening.  If  Hannah  found  work,  she  meant 
to  move  her  furniture  soon.  But  while  a  doubt  re- 
mained, she  would  leave  her  home  as  it  was,  that  she 
might  retreat  thither  if  necessary.  She  paclced  a  few 
needful  clothes  in  a  large  valise,  for  she  miglit  be  gone 
some  days,  if  Jane  could  keep  her.  Then  all,  at  last, 
was  ready.  Nora  and  Jemm}',  in  their  little  best  suits 
of  butf  linen,  were  two  as  neat  and  prett}'  children 
as  were  often  seen.  Hannah,  too,  plainly  attired  in 
black,  had  quite  the  air  of  a  lad\%  as  she  stepped  out 
from  the  door  of  her  homa,  auJ  turned  the  ke^^  For 
the  first  tini3  in  many  years,  that  key  went  into  her 
pocket  instead  of  under  the  blind. 

Mr.  Beeler,  the  grocer,  was  passing  as  she  came 
through  the  little  side  yard  to  the  street. 


16  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY  COCKT. 

"  Ah  !  j-ou  are  starting?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  was  coming  to  bring  you  the  key,**  she 
replied. 

"  All  right.  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  hope  by  the  time  you  return,  I  shall  have  found  a 
man  to  take  the  lease  of  the  shop  off  your  hands." 

"  Thank  you  hearty  sir,"  said  Hannah,  gratefullj' ; 
"  but  I  shall  perhaps  come  back  to-night.  Perhaps  not 
for  two  or  three  days.  I  can't  tell  till  I  get  there,  and 
find  out  how  things  are." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Well,  whether  you  come  back 
to-night  or  three  months  hence,  you  mil  find  all  safe 
here  and  ready  for  you ;  and  always  plenty  of  old 
friends  in  Campfields  to  greet  you.  I  don't  know  what 
Lester  Gree  will  do,  without  j'our  children  to  play 
with."     And  Mr.  Beeler  patted  Nora's  pink  cheeks. 

"  Everybody  has  been  very  kind,  I  am  sure,  sir,  ever 
since  the  day  that  Mrs.  Gree  came  down  to  help  me 
when  Mrs.  Roberts  died,  till  now.  I  wish  I  could 
see  my  way  clear  to  stay  here,  for  such  good  neigh- 
bors." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  find  better  ones  in  the  city," 
replied  INIr.  Beeler,  cheerily ;  "  at  any  rate,  let  us  hope 
so."  And,  wiih  a  friendly  hand-shake,  and  good-by,  Mr. 
Beeler  left  her. 

"  Come,  Jemmy,*'  said  Hannah. 

A  very  jovial  laugh  was  Jemmy's  Only  reply.     He 


HANXAII    CRAIG.  17 

was  at  the  moment  in  hot  pursuit  of  an  uncommonly 
stout  and  fleet  grasshopper. 

"  Jemmy,  mamma's  waiting,"  called  Nora. 

Jemmy  sprang  at  the  grasshopper  and  came  down 
unsuccessfully,  plump  on  his  clean  linen  knees,  in  a 
ver}^  damp  anil  disreputable  portion  of  the  street-gut- 
ter. Sir  Grasshopper  settled  his  chin  in  his  neck-cloth 
and  contemplated  his  downfall  with  serenity  from  a 
neighboring  succorj'-stem. 

"  1  '11  'ave  'im  now ! "  cried  the  undaunted  sports- 
man, scrambling  to  his  feet. 

Hannah  hastened  towards  him  with  more  energy  than 
patience.  Jemmy  opened  his  mouth  with  a  scream  of 
defiance,  and  ran.  Hannah  could  not  make  a  spectacle 
ef  herself  by  pursuing,  and  stopped,  vexed  and  dis- 
mayed.    Nora  grasped  her  mother's  hand. 

"  If  you  '11  walk  along,  mamma,  I  '11  bring  him. 
He  '11  come  with  me." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Nora  had  helped  her  mother 
to  conciliate  and  persuade  this  difficult  little  scion  of 
humanity.  And  Nora's  successes  had  long  ago  proved 
her  judgment  and  ability.  Hannah  j'ielded,  and  walked 
on.  Nora  stood  still  by  the  roadside,  and  in  a  very  few 
moments,  by  her  quietness  and  quickness,  had  captured 
a  fine  specimen  of  the  grasshopper  family. 

"  I  've  got  one,  Jemmy !  See  if  it  is  the  one  you 
were  after." 


18  THE    CIIILDnEX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

Jeram}'  believed  in  Nora  as  he  did  in  no  one  else. 
She  never  deceived  him.  Tliough  greatl}'  surprised  at 
such  a  sudden  capture,  he  came  at  once  to  sec.  She 
opened  her  hand  a  crack  for  him  to  peep,  and  there 
sat  the  grasshopper,  witli  a  look  of  surprised  solem- 
nity. 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  but  'e  's  the  very  one,"  an- 
nounced Jemmy,  oracularly.  "  Looks  like  'im.  'Ow 
did  you  catch  'im  so  quick  ?  " 

"  I  was  careful  not  to  scare  him." 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  believe  the  one  I  saw  was  a 
leetle  bigger.     Let  me  see  again." 

Jemmy  looked  again,  and  the  grasshopper  very  natu- 
rally jumped  for  the  open  crack  of  his  prison.  Jem- 
my started  back  with  blinking  eyes. 

"  Let 's  hurr}^  and  show  him  to  mamma  before  he  gets 
away  !  "  said  Nora. 

Jemmy  was  eager  enough  to  do  that,  and  they  soon 
overtook  Hannah. 

It  was  a  bright  sunny  morning,  anl  on  the  piazza, 
all  around  tlie  little  station,  stood  groups  of  men  going 
into  the  city.  The  coming  train  was  already  in  sight, 
and  Hannah  had  just  time  to  secure  her  ticket  before  it 
came  to  a  stop  alongside  the  platform.  "When  they 
wcrci  fairlj'  moving,  Jemm}',  with  dilated  eyes  and  his 
ruddy  little  face  close  to  the  window,  held  his  breath 
with  delight,  at  the  whizzing  panorama  before  him.     All 


HANNAH   CRAIG.  19 

t'ae  way  ho  kept  sliouting,  above  the  din  of  the  cars, 
to  Xoia  close  at  his  side,  to  look  at  the  cows,  houses, 
streets,  and  people  as  they  flew  along.  Once  a  fright- 
ened horse  caught  their  attention.  Then  a  row  of  boys, 
on  a  fence,  who  waved  their  caps  and  cheered  the  pass- 
ing train.  Everything  was  wonderful,  exciting,  and 
delightful  to  the  children,  l?ut  to  Hannah,  as  the  cars 
bore  her  nearer  the  city  she  had  once  known  so  Avell,  a 
strange  dread  took  possession  of  her.  There  came  an 
unaccountable  sinking  at  her  heart.  The  hope  that  had 
buoyed  her  up  heretofore  seemed  forsaking  her  in  the 
time  of  greatest  need.  She  longed  to  be  safely  back 
in  Cauipflelds. 

Meanwhile  the  cars  flew  swiftly  ou,  and  entered 
the  city,  and  her  busy  day  must  begin.  The  fii'st  thing 
was  to  take  the  children  to  Jane  Cook's ;  then  she 
could  go  about  freely  to  arrange  other  matters.  This 
first  task  was,  however,  a  hai'd  one.  It  was  a  long  walk. 
Coaches  and  horse-cars  would  not  much  shorten  it,  and 
she  could  not  aflbrd  a  carriage.  She  took  the  plump 
valise  in  one  hand,  and  vigorously  gi'asped  Jemmy's  wrist 
with  the  other.  Nora  walked  as  his  guard  on  the  other 
side,  anl  held  his  other  hand.  It  made  a  convenient 
f :)rm  of  infantry  troop  for  the  anxious  mother,  but  was 
an^'thing  but  satisfactory  to  the  eager,  inquiring  eyes  of 
Jemmy.  Alwaj's  something  he  wanted  to  see  was 
hidden   by  mother's  dress,  or  Nora's   broad-brimmed 


20  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COUKT. 

summer  hat.  He  stretched  his  neck  first  one  wa}',  then 
another.  Innumerable  things  he  wanted  to  see  a  sec- 
ond time,  he  missed  after  the  first  glimpse.  Only  the 
continual  appearance  of  new  wonders  prevented  him 
from  screaming  with  vexation  at  losing  sight  so  rapidly 
of  old  ones.  He  sprang  forward  to  see  the  last  of  an 
advertising  wagon,  around  Hannah  and  the  valise.  He 
lagged  a  step  to  gaze  at  a  baby  in  a  basement  window 
they  were  passing.  But  Hannah  had  a  good  grip  on 
his  little  wrist,  and  she  never  relaxed  it  for  any  strain 
that  came  upon  it,  —  perhaps  the  struggles  only  tight- 
ened it.  Nora's  attention  was  divided  between  Jem- 
my's talk,  her  care  over  him,  and  her  own  interest  in 
the  busy  city  streets.  '  The  noise  seemed  to  stun  her, 
but  Jemmy  liked  it.  It  gave  him  an  opportunity  for 
the  full  exercrse  of  his  excelleixt  lungs. 

Hannah  walked  on,  her  eyes  wandering  about  for 
familiar  buildings  and  landmarks.  She  had  just  found 
one,  and  started  to  cross  the  street. 

"  My  shoe 's  untied !  "  suddenl}'  cried  Jemmy,  hang- 
ing back. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Hannah,  looking  up  and  down 
the  street,  and  seeing  that  now  was  a  good  time  to 
cross. 

*•  I  step  on  it !  I  shall  tumble  down ! "  shouted 
Jemmy. 

Nora  stooped  and  tucked  in  the  straggling  string. 


HANNAH    CKAIG.  21 

Hannah  watched  her,  then  clutching  the  valise  and 
Jemmy,  stepped  from  the  sidewalk.  Jemmy  gave  one 
scream  of  objection  and  fright.  Hannah  pushed  on, 
half  dragging  him  with  her.  Jemmy  struggled,  and 
wrested  away  his  hand  just  as  something  struck  Han- 
nah, and  she  fell.  Jemmy  went  racing  down  the  side- 
walk. Nora  followed,  not  daring  to  lose  sight  of  him. 
Hannah  lay  senseless  and  alone,  in  the  street,  in  the 
track  of  a  runaway  horse. 

Of  course  a  crowd  instantly  gathered.  As  her 
valise  seemed  to  show  her  a  stranger  in  the  city, 
and  as  no  one  knew*  anything  about  her,  the  police 
placed  her  in  the  empt}^  wagon  that  had  done  the 
mischief,  —  as  the  runaway  horse,  quickly  captured, 
was  being  led  back,  —  and  bore  her  away.  Five 
minutes  afterwards  the  crowd  had  again  dispersed ; 
the  street  was  as  busy  as  ever ;  and  no  trace  re- 
mained of  the  accident,  unless  one  had  the  curiosity 
to  inspect  the  paving  in  one  spot,  where  a  few  spatters 
of  blood  had  stained  the  stones. 


22  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COUBT. 


CHAPTER  II. 


AMITY   COURT. 


STUMBLING  on  a  broken  brick,  Jeram}-  fell  over 
upon  a  doorstep,  and  there  he  lifted  up  his  voice, 
and  wept  as  only  Jemmy  could  weep.  In  truth,  the 
child  was  in  a  terrible  fright,  and  his  previous  excite- 
ment strengthened  and  intensified  it.  Ilis  quick  eyes 
and  ears  had  seen  and  heard  the  approaching  danger, 
though  his  speech  was  too  slow  to  tell  of  it,  and  his 
blind  efforts  to  escape  it  had  been  only  disregarded  as 
one  of  his  many  unfounded  objections  to  doing  as  his 
mother  desired.  Nora  was  quickly  beside  him.  She 
threw  herself  down,  panting,  upon  the  doorstep,  and 
lifted  his  flushed  face  into  her  arms. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Jemmy?  There,  hush  now, 
and  tell  Nora,  won't  j'ou  ?  " 

Jemmy  only  nestled  closer  to  her,  and  sobbed  bit- 
terly, though  more  quietly.  When  at  length  he  was 
almost  still,  with  only  occasional  long  fluttering  breaths 
to  tell  of  the  pain  that  had  torn  his  little  heart,  Nora 
said,  — 


AMITY  COURT.  23 

"  Now  we  '11  go  and  find  mamma."  She  had  been 
wondering  that  her  mother  had  not,  before  now,  come  to 
find  them.  But  Jemmy  broke  into  a  bitter  wail  at  this 
suggestion. 

"  O,  I  don't  want  to  !  She  'II  be  all  smashed  hup. 
Oo-oo ! " 

'■  Hush,  hash,  Jemmy  !  don't  cry  any  more.  Mamma 
will  be  waiting  for  us,  and  not  know  where  we  are." 

"  No,  she  won't !  The  great  wild  'orse  was  coming, 
and  'e  ran  over  'er  !  Oo  !  "  moaned  Jemmy,  for  he  had 
seen  his  mother  fall,  while  Nora,  in  looking  after  him, 
had  not.  She  remembered  now  the  clatter  and  rush 
of  a  flying  horse  and  wagon,  and  her  bright  cheeks 
paled  at  the  thonglit  tliat  her  mamma  could  scarcely 
have  got  out  of  the  wa}'  of  it.  But  she  answered,  in 
her  usual  trustmg,  cheery  way,  — 

"  Perhaps  not.    I  guess  mamma  got  out  of  the  way." 

"No,  she  didn't!  I  saw  'er  fall  down,  and  the 
'orse  —  Ooo  !  " 

"You  did?  Then  perhaps  she  is  hurt  somehow,  so 
she  can't  come  to  look  for  us.  "We  must  go  and  find 
her.  And  then  we  will  carry  the  valise  for  her,  won't 
we  ?     Do  you  believe  you  can  carry  half  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Jcmni}-,  stoutly.  "  Hi  could  carry  the 
'ole  of  it !  "  And  his  face  lighted  up  with  the  prospect 
of  testing   his   strength. 

So  Nora  rose,  and  hand  in  hand  they  walked  back 


24  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 

along  the  busy  sidewalk  towards  the  spot  where  they 
had  lost  their  mother.  The}'^  walked  a  long  way ; 
they  looked  carefully  and  earnestly  at  eveiy  woman 
they  met.     But  nowhere  could  they  find  their  mother. 

"I  think  we  must  have  come  by  the  place,"  said 
Nora,     "  Let 's  go  back.*' 

They  went  back  far  down  the  long  sidewalk  again 
Still  with  no  success. 

'*  I  wish  I  knew  just  where  it  was,"  said  Nora,  stop^ 
ping  to  gaze  anxiously  across  the  street. 

"What  are  yo\i  looking  for,  little  girl?"  asked  a 
passer. 

'*  Looking  for  mother,"  replied  Nora.  "  She  is  right 
along  here  somewhere  looking  for  us." 

The  stranger  said,  "  O,  well,  you  '11  soon  find  her 
then,"  and  went  on. 

Others  spoke  to  the  two  little  wanderers,  and  receiv- 
ing the  same  answer,  passed  on.  The  children  grew 
very  tired,  and  looking  down  a  quiet  court.  Jemmy 
said,  — 

'•  Let 's  go  in  there  and  sit  down ;  I'm  so  tired ! " 

There  was  no  passing  of  carriages  here,  for  the  court 
led  nowhere.  Across  the  end  was  a  broken  fence,  and 
bej'ond  it  was  the  river.  The  sun  lay  blistering  hot 
down  the  length  of  the  court,  but  there  was  beginning 
to  grow  a  narrow  ribbon  of  shadow  on  one  side.  The 
houses   were   huddled  against  one   another,  —  houses 


AMITY    COURT.  25 

of  all  sizes,  heights,  and  styles,  for  it  had  ouce  been  a 
respectable  and  desirable  place  of  residence.  Here  and 
there  were  blocks  of  decent  brick,  —  the  old  settlers,  — 
and  crowded  in  between  were  shabby  wooden  buildings. 
It  was  in  the  doorway  of  one  of  these  that  Nora  and 
Jemmy  sat  down  to  rest.  Jemra}'^  pillowed  his  brown 
head  on  Nora's  lap,  and,  quickly  putting  aside  all  care 
and  anxiety,  he  fell  asleep,  safe  and  happy  in  little 
Nora's  protecting  arms.  It  was  not  so  easy  for  Nora 
to  forget  her  trouble.  Yet.  sitting  so  still,  lulled  by 
the  quiet  breathings  of  Jcmrayon  her  lap,  the  soothing 
influence  did  at  last  overcome  her  excitement,  and,  rest- 
ing her  head  on  the  lintel  beside  her,  she  too  slept. 

Few  people  were  astir  in  the  court,  and  those  few 
were  too  well  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  stray  children 
to  notice  these.  Biddy  Crowle^'-,  coming  home  from  her 
day's  wash,  said,  "  La  sakes,  now  where  did  they  come 
from,  the  darlints?"  as  she  stepped  over  Jemmy  to 
enter  the  door.  But  she  did  not  waken  them  to  in- 
quire. 

The  shadow  had  stretched  across  the  court,  and  was 
creeping,  tier  by  tier,  up  the  windows  of  the  opposite 
houses,  when  Jemmy  awoke.  He  sat  up  and  gazed 
about  in  wonder.  The  movement  awoke  Nora,  and 
for  a  moment  the  two  children  stared  about  and  at  each 
other  in  silence.  Then  memory  returned,  and  Nora 
sighed.     But  Jemmy  was  quite  recruited  by  his  sleep, 


26  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

and,  seeing  some  children  of  his  own  size  playing  in  a 
gutter  opposite,  cried,  — 

"  Let 's  go  over  there,  and  play  a  while  with  them. 
Till  mamma  comes,  you  know,"  he  added,  as  he  saw 
doubt  in  Nora's  face. 

'"  Slic  won't  find  iis,"  sai^l  Xora. 

"Yes,  she  will.  There's  the  street,  just  out  there, 
and  when  she  goes  by  she  '11  look  right  down  here  and 
know  us  b}'  our  linen  clothes  !  "  And  Jemmy  sprang  up 
and  started  Yet  the  strangeness  and  newness  of  the 
city  threw  a  sliado  of  coyness  over  his  usually  confident 
air,  and  he  turned,  half-way  across,  to  wait  for  Nora, 
and  take  lier  Iiand. 

They  wal!:ed  over  and  stood  by  the  group,  —  three 
nondescript,  half-clothed  children,  who  were  piling  up 
chips  and  bits  of  rubbish  into  an  edifice  of  some  inches 
in  height.  The  builders  took  no  notice  of  the  little 
strangers  who  stood  by  looking  on.  They  pretended 
not  to  be  conscious  of  their  presence.  Nora  was  try- 
ing to  find  some  pleasant  word  or  way  of  beginning 
talk  with  them.  But  Jemmy  could  not  wait ;  and  just 
as  the  edifice  towered  to  a  proud  height,  he  put  out  his 
foot,  and  with  a  little  poke  knocked  it  all  down.  He 
did  not  mean  to  be  rude  or  ill-tempered.  It  had  alwaj'S 
been  his  way,  when  he  had  built  up  his  block  houses, 
to  have  the  fun  of  seeing  them  tumble  down.  Indeed, 
to  him  the  destruction  seemed  often  the  best  pai't  of 


AMITY    COURT.  27 

the  pla}'.  Not  so  ran  the  faith  of  the  little  Amity 
Courters.  A  yell  of  anjcr  arose  from  the  younger 
ones.  But  the  larger  bo}'  seized  a  handful  of  slimy 
dirt  from  the  gutter,  and  flung  it  full  in  Jemmy's  face. 
Jemmj-'s  mouth  being  open  for  a  laugh,  some  of  the 
dirt  went  in.  This  indignit}'  was  felt  to  be  a  mad- 
dening outrage.  Little  Jemm}'  was  never  so  angry 
before.  Quicker  than  Nora  could  stop  him,  he  sprang 
like  a  tiger  at  the  boj',  pounding  and  shaking  him  in 
an  utterly  unscientific,  but  very  hearty  manner.  The 
other  children  cheered.  A  fight  was  a  species  of 
entertainment  with  which  they  were  quite  familiar. 
More  children  rushed  out  to  see  it.  Then,  as  their 
native  seemed  getting  the  worst  of  it  at  the  hands  of 
the  stranger,  a  bigger  bo}'  came  to  his  assistance. 

Nora  had  been  tr3'ing  from  the  first  to  pull  .Jemmy 
away  from  his  aggressive  onset ,  but  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  she  redoubled  her  exertions  when  she  found 
him  the  sufferer.  Then  he  would  gladly  have  yielded 
to  her  e.Torts  to  disengage  him,  but  the  big  boy  held 
him  with  one  hand  while  he  struck  him  with  the  other. 
Nora  began  to  cry,  and  at  last,  in  desperation,  wrappe  J 
both  arms  about  Jemmy,  bowed  her  head  over  Mm,  and 
let  the  blows  foil  on  her  own  shoulders 

A  quick  patter  of  bare  feet  came  down  the  sidewalk. 

"  Hi,  Bill !  rare  fellow !  Can  lick  a  little  girl,  can't 
ye?" 


28  THE    CUILDRE^T    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

The  blows  ceased,  and  Bill  turned,  panting  and  angry, 
on  the  new-comer.  But  instead  of  commencing  a  new 
fight,  he  said,  in  a  shamed  voice,  — 

"  I  was  n't  licking  the  girl.  *T  was  the  boy  that  was 
pitching  into  little  Pat  Crowley." 

'■'  What  bo}'?  "  And  crouching,  with  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  and  a  shrewd,  puckering  smile  about  his  droll 
mouth,  Ned  peeped  under  Nora's  arms  to  get  a  view  of 
Jemmy.  "  Sure  enough  !  There  is  one,  I  declare ! 
The  girl  is  rather  small  to  be  a  match  for  you,  but 
the  boy  is  so  dreadful  little,  I  did  n't  see  him  at  all ! " 

"  They  are  strangers,  anyway,"  retorted  Bill.  "  Look 
at  their  good  clothes." 

Nora  led  Jemmy  to  a  quiet  doorway,  where  he  sobbed 
a  long  time,  partly  perhaps  with  fright  and  pain,  but 
probabl}'^  a  great  deal  more  from  unappeased  anger.  A 
terrible  heart-sinking  had  come  upon  both  the  children. 
It  was  hunger.  But  the  excitement  and  anxiety  of  the 
day  made  them  unconscious  what  ailed  them. 

Boys  came  trooping  into  the  court  now,  group  after 
group,  many  munching  cakes  or  doughnuts  as  they 
came.  Grown  men  and  women  came  into  it  also,  some 
carr^'ing  little  empty  tin  pails,  some  a  saw,  some  an 
axe.  some  picks  ;  many  were  quite  empty-handed.  As 
the  sun  went  down,  Amity  Court  seemed  to  wake  up. 
Every  liouse  was  full  of  life.  The  open  windows  each 
framed  a  group  of  frowsy  heads,  and  dozens  of  loung- 


AMITY    COURT.  29 

ing  inhabitants  swarmed  upon  the  doorsteps  and  filled 
the  narrow  sidewalks.  The  houses  were  like  ant-hills. 
Coarse  voices  called  back  and  forth  in  the  gathering 
dusk ;  games  of  tag  and  tease  occupied  the  street. 
And  the  evening  shadows  drew  closer  their  kind  cur- 
tain over  the  half-clothed  people  who  loitered  about, 
resting  from  the  daj^'s  toil,  and  the  dirty,  pinched-up 
children  who  raced  and  shouted  at  their  play. 

Nora  and  Jemmy  were  obliged  to  leave  the  doorway 
where  they  had  sought  refuge.  The  owners  wanted  it. 
They  stood  by  the  corner  of  a  narrow  passage  that  led 
through  into  the  back  yards.  They  stood  till  they 
could  stand  no  longer ;  then  they  sat  down  upon  the 
pavement.  Plent}-  of  tired  women  were  sitting  on  the 
sidewalk  about  them,  so  it  seemed  quite  in  fashion  for 
them  to  do  so  too.  In  the  darkness  their  good  clothes 
did  not  mark  them  as  strangers.  No  one  noticed  or 
spoke  to  them.  Sitting  there,  again  sleep  came  to  their 
relief,  and  the  hum  of  the  voices  about  them  only  lulled 
them  more  deeply  in  its  embrace. 

The  chill  of  midnight  awoke  Nora.  The  court  was 
empty,  and  still  as  death.  She  could  not  stay  there  on 
the  cold  stones  any  longer.  She  half  roused  Jemmy ; 
and,  leading  him  to  the  Avoodcn  steps  of  one  of  the 
shabbiest  houses,  they  crept  up  into  the  doorway,  and 
soon  were  again  asleep. 

Jemmy  was  early  awake  in  the  morning,  but  no  ear- 


30  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMHT   COURT. 

lier  than  many  others  in  Amity  Court.  The  houses 
showed  signs  of  movements  within,  but  there  was  no 
such  running  over  at  doors  and  windows  as  last  night. 
The  men  with  dinner-pails  and  tools  were  going,  one  by 
one  or  in  groups,  out  of  the  court  to  their  day's  work. 
Then  went  the  boj's,  chatting  and  chaffing  together. 
Nora  saw  Bill  and  Nod  among  them,  but  they  were  not 
togetlier,  Ned  was  with  a  smaller  bo}',  to  whom  he  was 
talking  earnestly  ;  Bill  was  playing  rudely  with  a  party 
of  rougher  boys,  Nora  tried  to  hide,  with  Jemmy, 
under  the  open  lid  of  the  hatchway  of  a  cellar.  She 
could  not  bear  to  be  seen  and  mocked  for  good  clothes 
again.  At  last  the  men  and  boys  seemed  all  gone,  and 
the  children  crept  out  of  their  hiding-place.  They  felt 
very  weak  and  faint ;  their  heads  were  dizzy  and  light 
with  fasting.  Jemmy  was  ready  to  cry  with  a  sort  of 
dumb  misery  he  could  not  explain.  But  his  eye 
caught  the  water  sparkling  across  the  end  of  the  court. 

"  I  want  to  go  and  see  the  water ! "  he  said,  in  for- 
lornest  accents. 

Nora  led  him  where  he  could  look  through  the  broken 
fence,  and  see,  far  out  on  the  river,  steamers  and  sail- 
boats gliding  to  and  fro.  The  novel  sight  interested 
him  for  a  while.  Nora,  too,  enjoyed  it,  but  soon  some- 
thing nearer  called  her  attention.  A  large  boy  had 
come  up  from  a  little  slanting  path  b}'  the  river  with  a 
hand-cait,  and  left  it  before  the  door  of  the  great  brick 


AMITY   COUKT.  31 

house  next  the  water.  He  went  in  and  up  the  stairs, 
which  Nora  could  see,  as  the  door  stood  wide  open. 
That  was  the  fasliion  with  all  the  doors  in  Amity 
Court.  Soon  he  came  down  with  a  huge  sack,  very  full 
and  plump,  on  his  back.  And  behind  him  came  a  girl 
not  quite  so  large,  and  she  too  had  a  full  sack  on  her 
back.  Foth  sacks  were  placed  in  the  hand-cart.  They 
seemed  not  very  heavj^,  though  so  very  big.  Then  the 
boy  and  girl  went  back,  and  soon  returned  with  two 
more  sacks,  which  they  also  piled  on  the  little  hand- 
cart. The  boy  brought  dowu  one  more,  and  then  the 
cart  was  heaped  so  full  that  he  had  to  tie  a  rope  over 
the  bags  to  keep  them  from  rolling  off.  Nora  could  not 
help  coming  nearer.  She  liked  to  see  them  fill  the  cart, 
and  to  hear  their  kind  and  cheery  voices.  She  hardly 
knew  why,  but  it  was  because  these  were  jjleasant- 
looking  and  well-behaved  children,  and  that  could  not 
be  said  of  most  of  the  residents  of  Amity  Court. 

"  All  right,  Tom  !  Now  throw  me  the  other  end," 
said  the  girl,  who  was  hidden  behind  the  piled  cart, 
trjnng  to  fasten  the  rope  over  it. 

"Now  it  will  ride,"  said  Tom,  giving  the  load  a 
shake  to  test  it. 

Just  then  Jemmy  turned,  and  missed  Nora  from  his 
side.  With  a  scream  he  looked  about  for  her,  and  she 
quickly  ran  to  him. 

"  Come  and  see  what  a  load  Tom  has  got,"  she  said, 


32  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COCRT. 

pointing  to  the  cart  which  was  just  beginning  to  move 
away. 

Jemmy  stared  with  wide  eyes,  and  T^ora  stood 
with  him  watching  it  going  out  of  the  court.  The  little 
girl  who  had  helped  load  it  also  stood  on  the  sidewalk 
watching  it. 

Then  she  turned,  and  saw  the  two  little  strangers. 
She  smiled  at  them  pleasantly.  It  was  the  first  bit 
of  encouragement  the  children  had  found.  Instinc- 
tively they  moved  towards  her. 

"Please,  could  you  give  us  something  to  eat?  "We 
are  very  hungry,"  said  Nora. 

"  Are  3"ou  ?  Why,  yes,  we  can  spare  you  a  break- 
fast," replied  the  pleasant-faced  little  girl.  "  Come  up- 
stairs, and  I  '11  get  it  for  you." 


TOB   birds'   M£ST.  33 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE    BIRDS     NEST. 


IT  was  not  merely  up  one  flight,  nor  two,  that  the 
pleasant-faced  girl  led  Nora  and  Jeraray,  But  at 
the  top  of  the  fourth  she  paused,  and  did  not  go  up  any 
more  stairs,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  there  were  no 
more.  Just  overhead,  the  sun  shone  in  upon  the  little 
cramped  upper  hall  through  a  skylight  in  the  roof.  A 
door  that  stood  ajar  she  pushed  open,  and  the  children, 
followed  her  into  a  long,  low  room  that  reached  quite 
across  thj  house,  and  had  windows  front  and  back,  aa 
well  as  two  at  the  side  looking  directly  out  on  the 
shming  river.  There  were  two  beds  in  the  room,  —  one 
tucked  away  in  a  corner  on  the  floor,  the  other  dig- 
nified with  a  cot-frame  of  ample  dimensions.  In  th« 
latter  was  a  movement  as  they  entered.  A  little  body, 
bolstered  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  leaned  forward  to 
catch  the  fii'st  glimpse  of  the  strangers,  whose  unfa- 
miliar footsteps  had  been  noted  far  down  the  long 
flights  of  stairs. 

"  Here   is    company  to  breakfast,   Harry,"  said  the 


St  THE    ClIILURKX    OF    AMITY   COUUT. 

hostess,  going  to  a  cupboard  between  the  chimney  and 
one  of  the  front  corners  of  the  long  room. 

"  "\Yc  don't  have  company  very  often,  and  I  'ra  glad 
to  see  3'ou,"  said  Ilarr}',  feeling,  with  a  child's  quick 
instinct,  a  sort  of  kinship  with  Nora,  and  reaching  a 
puny  little  hand  to  shake  liands  with  her. 

Xora  came  to  tlie  bedside,  and  gave  her  hand 
shyly,  saying,  — 

"  We  are  not  company.  We  lost  our  mother,  ami 
—  wh}',  I  suppose  Ave  are  just  beggars."  Then,  as 
the  force  of  this  dreadful  name  came  over  her,  Nora 
suddenly  sat  down  on  the  floor,  in  a  great  cUitter  of 
rags  that  were  strewed  around  Harry's  bed,  and  began 
to  cry. 

"  O,  don't ! "  said  Harrj',  in  a  heart-broken  voice, 
leaning  over  the  bedside  to  look  down  with  pitying 
ej'cs  upon  her.     ''  Bess,  do  come  and  take  her !  " 

Bess  turned  from  setting  out  some  bread  and  baker's 
cakes,  and  came  quickl}'.  But  Jemmy,  whose  first 
moments  on  entering  had  been  busy  with  a  severe 
survey  of  the  new  premises,  caught  Nora's  last  words, 
and,  looking  down,  saw  her  crying.  With  one  shriek 
of  terrified  sorrow,  he  flung  himself  down  beside  her, 
and  wailed  forth  his  despair,  at  sight  of  Nora  —  his 
stronghold  of  comfort  and  refuge  —  in  tears,  in  a  series 
of  the  most  woful  moans  that  ever  greeted  mortal  ear. 
Bess  stopped  half-way  to  Nora,  startled  b^'^  this  new 


THE  birds'  nest.  35 

outbreak.  But  the  emergeucj^  instantly  hushed  Nora's 
grief.  Brushing  back  Ler  own  tears,  she  raised  Jemmy 
in  her  arms,  and  soothingly  told  him  that  they  were 
going  to  have  something  to  eat  now,  and  "  wouldn't 
it  taste  good?"  Jemmy  loolced  up  in  her  face,  and, 
finding  her  no  longer  crying,  consented  to  accept  con- 
solation and — In'eakfast. 

Bess  Canton  little  knew  how  much  of  a  charity  she 
was  undertaking  when  she  agreed  to  give  these  two 
hungry  little  strangers  a  breakfast.  It  was  a  twenty- 
four  hours'  fast  that  they  were  breaking ;  and  many 
a  piece  of  bread  and  many  a  baker's  cake  it  required  to 
make  quite  good  so  long  a  fast,  and  utterly  destroy  their 
health}-  appetites.     But  Bess  was  not  thinking  of  that. 

"You  wore  very  hungry,  weren't  you?"  she  said, 
watching  them  with  kindly  eyes,  as  they  ate  so  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Nora. 

"  I  never  was  so  ungr}'  'fore  in  hall  m}-^  life,"  vouch- 
safed Jemmy,  with  his  mouth  full  of  doughnut. 

"  Tell  me  where  you  came  from, "  was  the  next 
query. 

"  Campficlds,"  said  Nora. 

"  It's  way  off — long  wa}'^  —  we  came  in  cars,"  ejac- 
ulated Jemmy. 

"  But  3'ou  said  you  lost  your  mother.  When  was 
that?" 

"Yesterday  —  walking    along  that  street,"    replied 


36  THE    CHILDREN   OF    A5IITY    COURT. 

Nora,  indicating  the  other  end  of  the  court  witU  a  wave 
of  her  hand.  '•  Jemmy  ran  awaj',  and  I  ran  after  him, 
and  when  we  went  back  —  " 

"  No,  first  the  great  wild  'orse  came,"  interrupted 
Jemmy ;  "  I  saw  'im,  and  mamma  did  n't,  and  Nora 
did  n't.  So  hi  ran  awa}',  and  Nora  ran  too,  but  mamma 
stayed,  and  was  all  runded  over." 

"  When  we  went  back,"  continued  Nora,  "  we 
couldn't  find  her." 

"Are  you  sure  you  went  back  to  the  same  place?" 
asked   Bess. 

"  We  went  all  along  the  street,"  said  Nora ;  "  we 
could  n't  tell  just  the  place,  but  we  must  have  gone  by 
it,  and  we  could  n't  see  mother  anywhere ;  but  I  think 
she  will  come  by  and  by.  She  '11  be  looking  for  us,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bess,  gravely.  But  in  her  heart 
she  thought  that  probablj' the  children's  mother  would 
never  again  come  to  look  for  them. 

"When  Nora  Jtnd  Jemmy  had  finished  their  breakfast, 
Bess  put  away  the  few  fragments  that  remained,  and 
tied  on  her  hat  hurriedly. 

"  Now,  I  must  go  down  to  help  Tom,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I  shall  have  to  run,  I  guess.  You  can  sta}'  here, 
if  you  like,  till  I  come  back.  It  is  very  pleasant  to 
look  out  of  the  window  at  the  ships.  Would  you  like 
to  stay?" 


THK  birds'  nest.  37 

Bess  looked  at  Nora  for  an  answer.  Nora  looked  at 
Jemmy.     As  neither  replied,  Bess  said  to  Jemmy,  — 

"  Would  }ou  like  to  stay  here  and  watch  the  ships  on 
the  river  till  I  come  back?  " 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  Jemmy,  climbing  on  a  chair  at 
one  of  the  south  windows  overlooking  the  water.  He 
was  in  just  that  condition  of  good  humor  that  is  agreea- 
ble to  any  and  every  proposition,  and  that  often  comes, 
as  in  this  case,  from  a  thorough  internal  physical  satis- 
faction. 

So  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  remain.  But  the 
arrangement  was  not  made  without  reference  to  Harry's 
wish.  Bess's  eyes  had  sought  his  when  the  meal  was 
ended,  and  r^ad  their  desire  to  retain  this  new  company 
that  had  drifted  i.x  upon  them.  It  was  to  Nora,  not 
Jemmy,  that  the  wisli  had  reference.  But  the  two 
were  not  to  be  distinguished,  and  Harry  already  en- 
dured Jemmy  for  Nora's  sake,  in  these  first  few  mo- 
ments of  their  acquaintance. 

Jennny  was  very  quiet  at  the  window,  after  Bess  had 
gone.  He  was  tired  His  unusual  sleeping  accommo- 
dations must  answer  for  that.  Then  all  his  j'oung 
strength  and  vitality  were  at  present  emplo^'cd  to  digest 
his  hearty  breakfast.  Nora,  drawn  by  the  gentle  ways 
and  indescribable  attractions  of  the  little  boy  in  bed, 
approached,  and  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  cot.  She 
did  not  speak.     She  did  not  know  what  to  say.     But 


38  THE    CHILDUKX    OK    AMITY    COURT. 

she  liked  to  watch  him,  for  two  reasons.  lie  was  very 
much  after  the  pattern  of  the  an  el  in  her  sto:y-book 
at  home  To  be  sure,  the  angel's  hair  was  long  and 
streaming,  and  his  was  cut  short,  as  a  boy's  should  be. 
But  his  was  of  the  golden  yellow  color  that  alwaj^s 
suggested  heaven  and  glory  to  her  childish  mind  ;  and 
it  rolled  itself  up  into  rings  all  around  his  fair  pale 
face.  His  e3'es  were  very  blue  and  bright,  as  soft  and 
gentle  as  angels'  ej'^es  should  be,  but  somehow  too  sad. 
Nora  did  not  think  this  all  out.  She  only  felt  a  vague, 
dumb  happiness  in  looking  at  him,  and  an  idea  of 
angels  was  mixed  up  in  her  mind  with  her  idea  of  him. 
Harry  was  older  than  Nora,  though  no  larger.  He 
was  Acry  busy  ail  the  time,  as  he  sat  np  in  bed ;  and 
this  was  the  second  reason  she  found  so  much  interest 
in  watching  him.  A  long  bag,  twice  as  long  as  any 
that  Tom  had  carried  away  on  the  cart,  —  indeed,  a  bag 
made  by  ripping  out  the  bottjm  of  one  like  those,  and 
sewing  the  sides  on  the  top  of  another,  —  was  beside 
him,  standing  on  the  floor,  its  top  within  easy  reach  of 
his  little  arms  The  bag  was  stutfed  fall  of  rags  of  all 
sizes,  shapes,  and  colors.  Harry  was  sorting  them. 
He  threw  the  white  rags  on  one  side  his  bed,  and  the 
colored  ones  on  the  other.  Sometimes  he  found  very 
pretty  bits  of  calico  or  dress  goodi  ;  but  generally  the 
rags  were  old  and  faded,  sometimes  not  at  all  clean  or 
nice  to  handle.     Harry  only  hurried  over  such  patches 


THE  birds'  nest.  39 

in  his  rag-bag,  and  Bess  took  care  in  filling  it  to  put 
in  as  little  as  possible  of  the  disagreeable  kind.  Soon 
Nora  saw  how  he  divided  them,  and  began  to  help. 
They  spoke  little,  but  a  silent  S3mpathy  was  growing 
up  between  them,  expressed  chiefly'  by  pleasant  glances 
from  their  bright  eyes.  Nora  p  tied  Harry,  and  wanted 
to  help  him  because  he  had  to  stay  in  bed,  and  loved 
him  because  he  had  an  angil  face.  Harry  pitied  Nora 
because  she  looked  so  sad  and  had  lost  her  mother,  as 
had  the  Canton  children  not  lon^  since  ;  and  he  loved 
.her,  too,  for  the  tender  care  slie  showed  for  Jemmy. 
Little  Jemmy,  meanwhile,  at  the  window  was  so  unrea- 
sonably quiet  that  Nora  turned  to  look,  and  found  his 
head  sunk  upon  the  sill,  in  the  glaring  sunshine,  his 
round  eyes  fast  closed  in  sleep. 

"  Jemmy 's  gone  to  sleep.  I  'm  glad  ;  he  must  be  so 
tired,"  she  said  to  Harry. 

"  He  might  lie  on  the  other  bed.  The  sun  is  too  hot 
for  him  there,"  said  Ilarrj'. 

So  Nora,  half  waking  him,  led  him  to  the  bed  in  the 
corner,  where  he  soon  w.  s  comfortabl}'  sleeping^ 

Then  Ilarr}^  and  Nora  began  to  talk  gradually  more 
and  more.  Harry  first  told  how  they  earned  money  by 
picking  over  the  rags.  Tom  went  out  with  the  hand-cart 
and  collected  th;  m  first.  Some  he  picked  up  in  back 
streets  and  alleys,  and  at  the  ba.  k-tloors  of  factories; 
those  were  the  dirty  ones.     Some  were  given  bira  for 


40  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

taking  them  away,  but  those  were  not  worth  much,  and 
some  he  bought  for  a  cent  or  two  a  pound  Then  he 
and  Bess  would  sort  them,  —  there  were  different  kinds 
of  sorting  to  be  done.  lie  did  only  the  sorting  of  col- 
ored from  white  cotton  rags.  Tiess  picked  out  the  silk, 
the  leather,  and  the  paper.  "When  they  were  sorted, 
Tom  took  them  away  again,  and  sold  them  at  the  best 
places  for  good  prices. 

'•  ^Mother  always  had  a  rag-bag,"  said  Nora. 

But  Harry  was  shy  of  talking  about  her  mother.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  must  be  a  painful  subject.  He  did  not 
realize  how  far  from  Nora's  mind  was  any  fear  of  never 
£nding  her  mother  again.  He  had  seen  the  grave  look 
in  Bess's  face,  and  understood  it.  He  said  nothing  of 
Nora's  mother,  just  as  Nora  said  nothing  of  his  being 
in  bed,  because  she  felt  sure  it  was  something  dreadful 
that  kept  him  tliere.  He  was  evidently  not  sick.  His 
clear  bright  e^^es,  his  chocrfid  smile,  the  bus}'  work  of 
his  fair  little  hands,  all  proved  that  no  pain  was  in  his 
small  body,  no  fever  dimmed  and  wasted  his  life  Yet 
onl}'  from  his  wai  t  up  did  he  seem  alive  He  leaned 
forward,  or  rested  back  upon  his  pillows,  lie  worked 
briskly  with  hands  and  arras ;  his  head  and  face 
moved  and  lighted  up  with  quick,  Iceen  interest.  But 
as  stationary  as  a  rose  in  its  garden  patch,  or  a  flower 
upon  a  tree,  was  little  llarr^'  Canton  in  his  wide  cot- 
bed. 


THE    birds'    nest.  41 

Nora  told  him,  in  return  for  his  story  about  the  rags, 
how  she  and  Jemmy  used  to  play  with  raud-turt'.es  in 
Campfields  brook,  and  turn  them  on  their  backs  to  see 
them '"beg";  but  how  they  alwaj'S  took  care  to  turn 
them  back  again,  right  side  up,  before  leaving  them, 
because  Lester  Grec  had  told  them  that  the  poor 
turtles  could  never  turn  over  themselves,  and  would  die 
so,  if  left  on  their  backs.  Ilarrj'  listened  with  interest, 
yet  his  pale  face  saddened  slightly  as  he  said, — 

"  We  used  to  live  in  the  country  when  father  was  a 
minister." 

"  Was  your  father  a  minister?"  asked  Nora,  in  some 
awe  at  conversing  so  familiarly  with  the  child  of  such  a 
dignitarj-. 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  was  ever  so  long  ago,  when  I  was  very 
little,  —  no  bigger  than  Jemmj'." 

Nora  was  rather  relieved  at  this  explanation,  and 
Harry  went  on  to  give  more  of  his  history. 

"  Father  was  sick,  very  sick,  for  a  long  time.  We 
came  to  the  city  to  see  a  doctor  here.  It  was  a  won- 
derful doctor  who  could  cure  everything  and  everybody. 
But  he  did  not  cure  my  father.  I  did  n't  know  much 
about  it  tlien  Sometimes,  since,  I  have  heard  Tom 
and  Bess  speak  of  tliose  times  when  we  first  came  to  the 
citj^.  We  lived. in  a  better  house,  had  more  rooms,  and 
we  did  not  work  —  we  little  ones  ;  but  mother  did,  — 
she  was  always  at  work.     Then  father  died.     That  was 


42  THE  CHILDREN  OF  AMITf  COURT. 

long  ago,  —  two  or  three  years,  I  guess.  Pretty  soon 
after  that  we  moved  into  another  house  where  we  had 
fewer  rooms.  Then  into  another,  where  we  had  onl}' 
two  rooms.  Last  summer  we  came  here.  But  it  is 
prctt}'  cold  here  in  the  winter.  In  the  summer  it  does 
very  well.  I  heard  Tom  sa}'  that  we  must  get  away 
from  here  before  winter  cornea  again,  or  we  shall  all 
freeze." 

"  Don't  you  have  a  fire  in  the  winter?"  asked  Nora, 
with  her  earnest  little  face  full  of  interest. 

"  O,  5es,all  we  can.  But  it  costs  lots  of  money,  and 
it  does  n't  warm  the  room  anj^.  The  wind  blows  in  so 
at  the  cracks  ia  winter !  Mother  used  to  sit  close  to 
the  cliinine}'  tliere,  Avith  her  feet  to  the  fire  and  the  sun- 
shine on  her  back,  and  then  she  said  she  was  ver3''  com- 
fortable. But  sometimes  there  was  not  any  sunshine, 
and  the  snow  sifted  in  through  the  roof,  and  made  it 
damp  and  chilly.  Then  mother  would  cough  all  day 
long.  But  she  kept  on  sewing  just  the  same.  'T  was 
then  that  she  thought  about  the  rag  business,  and  sent 
Bess  out  when  it  was  pleasant  to  gather  all  she  could 
find.  For  a  long  Avhile  Bess  would  come  with  such 
lil.ie  lots.  But  by  and  by  slie  learned  where  to  go  to 
find  them,  and  what  jjlaces  had  them  to  sell  or  give 
away,  and  then  some  days  she  used  to  get  more  than 
she  could  bring  home  at  one  load.  Then  mother  said 
we  must  have  a  hand-cart.     She  took  off  her  ring,  —  it 


THE  birds'  nest.  43 

■was  a  beauty,  —  and  told  Tom  to  go  and  turn  it  into  a 
hand-cart.  That  sounds  like  fairy-tale  wajs  of  doing, 
I  know  ;  but  I  suppose  Tom  only  sold  the  ring,  and 
bought  the  hand-cart  with  the  money.  That  was  when 
spring  was  coming,  I  know,  because,  after  the  hand-cart 
was  bought,  mother  let  me  sort  rags.  She  would  not 
let  me  bef  jre,  because  they  were  so  cold  to  handle  ; 
she  was  afraid  I  might  take  cold  from  them  and  be  sick." 

Nora  was  sileut  when  Harry  seemed  to  have  made  an 
end  of  his  recital.  There  were  many  things  she  would 
have  liked  to  know,  but  she  forbore  to  ask.  They  sorted 
a  long  time  in  silence,  till  a  great  yawn  from  Xora  drew 
Harr3'*s  attention. 

"  You  are  tired.     Where  did  j^ou  sleep  last  night?  " 

"  On  the  sidewalk  and  some  doorsteps." 

"You  did?     Could  j'ou  sleep  there?" 

"  We  had  n't  an3'where  to  go,  you  know.  I  did  n't 
sleep  as  sound  as  I  do  in  bed." 

'•  Of  course  not,"  criel  Harry,  with  a  merry  smile. 
"  Now  1  '11  tell  3'ou  what  3'ou  must  do.  Go  and  lie 
down  on  that  bed  with  Jemm}',  and  have  a  good  nap  till 
Bess  and  To:n  come  back." 

Nora  hesitated  ;  but  Harry  insisted,  and  -she  at  last 
consented.  With  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  she  fixed 
her  gentle  black  eyes  on  Harry's  sininy  head,  and  let 
the  pleasant  vision  be  her  last  as  the  white  lids  slowly 
slipped  down,  and  Nora  fell  iuto  a  comfortable  and 
restful  slumber. 

\ 


44  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY  COURT. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE    BIRDS    IN    COUNCIL. 


"  T  "WOULD  as  soon  as  you,  Bess,  if  we  only  could,'* 
J-  said  Tom  Canton,  rummaging  rapidly  in  the 
great  heaps  of  rags  he  had  tumbled  from  some  large 
sacks,  upon  the  floor  under  the  rear  windows  of  the 
]ong  room. 

Bess  was  setting  out  an  afternoon  meal  be<"ween  the 
front  windows  at  the  farther  end  of  their  house.  She 
made  no  answer,  save  by  a  little  sigh,  and  a  mournful 
glance  towards  the  bed  upon  the  floor,  where  lay  Nora 
and  Jemmy,  still  asleep. 

"You  see,"  continued  Tom,  ''  everything  is  changing 
with  the  war.  We  do  but  barel}^  manage  to  live  now. 
I  don't  see  how  we  shall  make  out  to  do  that  when 
winter  comes.  And  prices  are  going  up,  and  rags  are 
scarce  and  high.  Sometimes,  Bess,  I  am  afraid  wo 
shall  starve,  ourselves.  So  how  can  we  take  those  two 
children  in?  They  can  sleep  here,  of  Course,  but  we 
cannot  possibly  feed  and  clothe  them ;  so  it  is  better 


THE    BIRDS    I\    COUNCIL.  45 

they  should  go  where  they  cau  be  better  cared  for. 
They  are  too  young  to  be  put  to  work." 

Bess  only  sighed  again,  but  this  time  the  sigh  was 
taken  up,  and  echoed  from  the  small  cot-bed,  where 
Harry,  wearied  with  liis  work,  lay  back  upon  his  pillows, 
pale  and  still.  Bess  heard  it  as  well  as  Tom.  Both 
glanced  towards  him,  and  then  went  silently  on  with 
their  work. 

"  Ned's  coming  !  "  said  Harry,  in  a  glad,  soft  voice, 
a  moment  later. 

The  door  opened  and  closed,  admitting  a  figure  so 
full  of  life  di'ollery,  and  shrewdness  in  every  line  and 
motion,  as  to  suggest  wonder  how  it  could  have  entered 
without  a  heralding  of  boist-^rous  noise,  Ilarr}'  raised 
his  face  with  a  Wvlcoming  smile,  Ne  1  took  it  between 
two  rough,  grimy  little  paws,  an  1  grinned  into  it  cheer- 
fully.    Anybody  but  Ned  would  have  kis-ed  it. 

"  Business  is  just  snapping,"  was  Ned's  first  remark  ; 
and,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  two  pockets  of  his 
baggy  pantaloons,  he  rattled  the  cents  therein,  then  put 
down  a  wad  of  veiy  dirt}'  little  green  rags  upon  the 
dinner-table. 

"  See  there  !  And  ti:e  evening  trade  not  begun  yet ! 
Thought  perhaps  3'ou  M  li  e  some  before  night,  so  I 
ran  home  with  it." 

I'ess  looked  across  to  Tom.  Tom  was  busy,  and  kept 
his  e^'es  on  his  work.     She  gave  one  happy  smile  to  the 


46  THE    CHILDREN   OF   AMITY    COURT. 

generous  provider  who  brought  home  his  gains  so  freely. 
Xed  grinncvl  back,  but  it  was  a  grin  of  more  sober  and 
thoughtful  a  character  than  the  one  he  had  bestowed  on 
Harry.  His  gray  ej-es  showed  aa  earnest,  kind  light. 
Ilis  white,  ove:i  teeth  slipped  bac'c  behind  tlie  shrewd 
lips,  and  hid  qulto  out  of  sight.  His  glance  of  hearty 
good-will  for  the  moment  ontdazzled  the  great  brown 
patches  of  freckle  on  the  stubbed,  turned-up  nose, 
and  the  smaller,  fainter  ones  upon  his  tough  3*oung 
cheeks.  For  that  moment  Ned  Canton's  plain  face  was 
quite  lovable.  Then  the  mischief  and  the  swagger 
came  buck. 

"  Pretty  soon,  Bess,  I  '11  support  the  whole  familj''  of 
you.  Tom  can  go  into  a  connting-rr  ">m,  and  we  can 
all  live  like  th3  gentlefolks  we  are." 

''AH  but  the  newsboy  who  has  to  pa}'  the  bills,"  said 
Tom.  "  You  will  not  grow  A'ery  wealthy  at  your  trade. 
I  never  hoard  of  anj'  one  who  did." 

"Well,  there 's  a  first  tim3  to  everything,"  returned 
Ned,  with  his  hand  luxuriating  among  the  jingling  cop- 
pers in  his  pocket. 

"  But  3'on  see  Bess  and  I  are  earning  less  now  than 
before  the  war.     The  war  is  killing  our  business." 

"  Is  it?  It  is  the  making  of  mine.  There  was  a 
battle  3'csterday,  and  the  papers  go  to-day  as  fast  as 
I  can  make  change." 

"  I  shall  have  to  fia  I  something  else  to  do.     In  a 


THE    lilKDS    IX    COUNCIL.  47 

week  there  will  be  no  more  rag-picking  for  me.  It  will 
take  more  capital  to  carry  on  ths  trada  thaa  we  can 
raise." 

"O,  how  do  you  know?  Perhaps  I  can,"  replied 
Ned,  Avith  a  cheerful  look,  not  without  suggestion  of  a 
mysteiy  soiuswherc  in  hi  i  most  interior  thought.  But 
Tom  asked  no  questions.  It  wa?  a  very  common  look 
with  Ned  when  he  was  hunting  for  an  idea. 

"  Besides,"  continued  To:n,  "  here  are  two  children 
who  have  drifted  in  on  Bess,  and  she  wants  to  keep  them 
with  us.  But  they  are  too  little  to  do  anything.  Look 
at  them  !  " 

Xed's  eyes  grew  round.  He  walked  down  the  long 
room  and  looked  at  Nora  and  Jcmmv,  flung  down  so 
wearily  on  his  own  couch,  —  Nora's  arm  thrown  across 
Jemmy  as  if  to  protect  him  even  in  sleep.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  looked.  Then  he  whistled,  very  Ion  ^  and  very 
low,  not  to  wake  them.  Then  the  pucker  slipped  out 
of  his  lips,  and  his  customary  grin  took  its  place. 

"If  that  isn't  the  little  chap  I  saw  fighting  in  the 
court !  Only  he  did  n't  get  on  well  at  it,  and  so  the  girl 
stepped  in  and  took  it  herself.'  Shu's  a  brick  —  that 
little  girl.  Come,  now,  she  could  sell  papers.  There's 
room  for  new-comers  in  the  business.  She  could  sell 
for  me,  and  I  could  get  stock  for  her.  Come  now,  Tom, 
what 's  better  than  that?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  would  like  it  ?    I  should  so  like 


48  THE   CHILDREN   Of    AMITY    COURT. 

to  have  her  stay  !  "  said  Harry,  gently.  But  Tom  made 
no  reply. 

'•'  It  would  be  hard,  rough  work.  You  ought  not  to 
put  her  into  it,"  said  Bess,  gravel}'. 

"  I  'il  agree  she  shall  get  a  living ;  that  is,  pay  for 
the  feeding  of  herself  and  the  boy.  When  it  comes  to 
clothes,  —  she  must  beg  some,  1  suppose,"  Ned  added, 
in  a  lon-er  tone,  "  if  she  can't  buy  them." 

'•  What  do  3'ou  say,  Tom?"    asked  Bess. 

*'  Hullo  !  "  cried  Ned,  dropping  into  his  former  droll 
attitude,  hands  on  his  knees  and  chin  raised,  his  keen 
eyes  and  inquisitive  nose  taking  on  an  air  of  interested 
inquir}-.  Little  Nora  was  sitting  up  on  the  bed,  and 
her  soft,  dark  c^'es  were  raised  in  strong  entreaty  to  the 
unconscious  face  of  Tom,  who  stood  as  arbiter  of  her 
fate. 

"Please  do  let  us  stay,"  she  pleaded  ;  "  it's  so  nice 
here,  and  so  near  for  mother  to  find  us  !  I  '11  do  anj'- 
thiug  you  say,  and  so  will  Jemmy,  won't  you?"  she 
broke  off,  as  Jemmy  rolled  over  his  sleepy  red  face  at 
sound  of  her  voice. 

"  Ye-es,"  with  both  fists  in  his  eyes,  Jemmy  replied. 

"  We  '11  be  very  good." 

Tom  glanced  up  and  smiled  at  her.^  Bess  saw  it,  and 
answered  for  him. 

"  Tom  would  like  you  to  stay,  as  well  as  I,  if  we 
can  manage  to  get  enough  to  eat." 


TUE    BIUDS   IN   COUNCIL.  49 

"  0,  we  won't  eat  much  ^"  cried  Nora.  And  Bess 
smiled,  remembering  the  breakfast.  "  Just  till  mother 
comes,  you  know."  The  smile  faded,  and  Bess  turned 
away  her  face. 

"  Come  now,  Bess,  if  we  are  going  to  have  anything 
to  eat,  1  want  mine  now  !  "  cried  Ned. 

"  It  is  all  ready,"  was  the  reply. 

Bess  carried  some  of  the  bread  and  buns  to  Harry. 
Tom  left  his  rags,  and  began  to  wash  his  hands.  There 
were  not  chairs  enough  for  all,  so  Ned  stood  up,  and 
Jemmy  shared  Nora's.  Thus  they  made  a  cheerful 
meal,  enlivened  by  some  droll  stories,  of  which  Ned  had 
always  a  stock  on  hand.  When  they  had  finished, 
which  was  soon,  he  turned  suddenly  to  Nora. 

"  Come,  now,  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  and  sell 
papers  for  the  evening's  trade.  'T  will  be  brisk  to-night." 

Nora  looked  up  in  his  face  with  startled  eyes,  that 
needed  no  words  of  surprise  or  inquiry. 

"  You  said  you  'd  do  anything  we  said,  and  you  see 
you  '11  have  to  earn  as  much  as  you  eat,  you  and  the 
little  chap." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  ! "  stammered  Nora. 

"  O,  I  '11  show  3'ou,  easy  'nough.     Come  ! " 

Nora  took  up  her  little  straw  hat,  and  put  on 
Jemmy's. 

"  He  can't  go,"  succinctly  stated  Ned. 

Nora  obediently  took  off  the  hat  from  Jemmy's  head. 


50  THE    CHILDUEN    OF   AMITY   COUKT. 

'•  Yes,  111  will  go  too  !  "  screamed  Jemmy,  with  great 
emphasis. 

A  puzzled  look  crossed  Nora's  face.  She  had  alwaj's 
j-ielded  to  Jemmy's  imperative  will,  but  now  she  felt 
there  was  some  one  else  to  be  considered.  The  two 
influences  balanced,  and  produced  momentary  inaction. 

''  No,  you  won't,  my  man,"  said  Ned,  who  was  accus- 
tomed to  bsing  "considered  something  of  a  ruler  among 
small  boj's  '•  Come,  now,  stay  here  like  a  good  boy, 
and  we  "11  come  back  by  and  b}." 

"  Hi  sa}'  I  will  go !  "  shouted  Jemmy  ;  and,  seizing 
his  hat,  he  put  it  on  again. 

"  But,  Jemm^',"  began  Nora,  softly,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
might  get  lost  from  rae,  and  then  what  should  I  do?  " 

"  Find  me,"  concisely  replied  the  young  lord  of 
creation. 

"  But  supposing  I  couldn't,  any  more  than  we  know 
where  to  find  mother  ?  " 

"  Hi  '11  keep  close  hold  of  j'ou,"  said  Jemmy,  in  a 
conciliatory  tone. 

"  Butj'ou  'd  better  sta}^  at  home,"  put  in  Ne.l. 

"  But  Hi  won't !     'T  ain't  *ome,  nor  nothing  like  it.'* 

"  Come,"  said  Ned ,  twitching  Nora's  sleeve  for  t 
strategic  exit. 

But  Jemmy  was  too  quick,  and  caught  her  other  arm. 

"  Could  n't  he  go?  "  falteringly  asked  Nora,  torn  by 
the  two. 


THE    BIRDS    IN    COUNCIL.  51 

"  You  'd  lose  him  just  as  certain  as  he  did,"  said 
Ned.  "Or  else  you'd  be  so  busy  looking  after  him, 
you  would  n't  sell  the  papers." 

"  Take  one  of  the  sack-ropes  and  tie  them  together," 
suggested  Bess. 

Ned  grinned.  He  picked  up  one  of  the  ropes  that 
were  used  to  tie  the  sack-mouths,  and  saying,  tersely, 
"  Come  on,  then,"  led  the  way  down-stairs.  Nora  and 
Jemmy  quickly  followed,  and  soon  their  steps  were  lost 
to  little  Harry's  listeuing  ears. 

Bess  had  cleared  the  table,  and  cleaned  the  few 
plates.  She  was  busy  now  making  the  bed  for  Harry. 
She  had  first  taken  up  the  ph.le,  thin  child  in  her 
motherly  arms,  and,  wrapping  an  old  shawl  about 
him,  given  him  to  Tom.  It  was  a  regular  morning 
and  afternoon  duty  with  them, — a  relic  of  the  old 
home-days,  when  they  felt  they  had  a  real  home. 
Tom  sat  down  in  the  one  low  rocker,  that  had  been 
the  mother's  chair,  and  holding  Harry  in  his  arms  as 
gently  and  tcndcrl}'  as  had  that  mother,  rocked  softly 
and  slowly  the  little  burden.  It  rested  the  child  from 
his  wear}'  bed.  It  was  the  happie-st  part  of  his  day, — 
those  two  half-hours  when  Tom  and  Bess  toolc  turns  to 
hold  and  rock  hm.  AVhen  the  bed  was  thrown  open  and 
tossed  up  for  an  airing,  liess  came  and  sat  beside  them. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  sliall  ever  gi'ow  any  bigger?" 
said  Harr}',  softly. 


52  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

"  O,  yes!"  Tom  answered,  cheerfully.  "I  can 
remember  when  you  were  not  half  so  large  as  now,  — 
out  at  Bruxrwood. 

"  But  I  have  n't  grown  any  since  I  came  into  the 
city." 

"  Not  so  much,  I  suppose.  None  of  us  have.  If  we 
were  only  rich  enough  to  go  back  to  Briarwood,  you 
would  begin  to  grow,"  said  J^ess. 

"  "Well,  we  shan't  go,"  said  Harry,  with  a  mournful 
sort  of  resignation. 

"  But  3'ou  will  grow  some,  here." 

"I  don't  Avant  to;  because  then  I  shall  get  too  big 
to  be  rocked.  And  how  shall  I  ever  bear  it  to  lie  in 
bed  all  the  time,  and  be  too  big  to  be  taken  up  and 
rocked  ?  " 

'' O,  is  that  it?"  said  Bess,  with  brightened  face. 
"  We  '11  always  rock  you,  if  3'ou  grow  as  big  as  Tom." 

"  You  could  n't." 

"  Yes,  I  could.     I  could  rock  Tom  now.'' 

"Not  if  he  took  his  feet  up?  "  cried  Harry,  laughter 
creeping  up  in  his  blue  eyes  and  delicate  face. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  Let  me  take  him  now,  Tom  ;  it 's  my 
turn  " 

"  I  'm  not  tired,"  said  Tom. 

''  O,  I  did  n't  suppose  you  Avere,"  replied  Bess  ;  "  I 
never  am.  But  you  can  have  him  while  I  am  spreading 
up  the  bed,  so  I  want  him  now." 


THE    BIRDS    IX    COUNCIL.  53 

Tom  3'iclded  the  locker  and  his  burdcai ;  Bess 
rocked,  and  meanwhile  sang  a  little  song  their  mother 
taught  them  long  ago.  And  Harry  smiled  sweetly,  as 
the  motion  and  the  music  lulled  the  weariness  from  his 
poor  little  body. 

"  I  didn't  do  much  to-da3%  See  !  "  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  rags  he  had  sorted,  when  Bess  had  returned  him 
to  Tom's  care.  "  Seems  to  me  I  don't  do  nearly  so 
much  in  a  day  as  when  I  ftrst  began." 

"  Th  re 's  no  need  you  should  now.  "We  shall  have 
verj'  few  more  rags  to  sort,"  replied  Tom. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  O,  something  else.  I  don't  know  exactly  what, 
yet,"  Tom  said,  absently. 

The  fresh  bed  stood  ready,  but  Tom  and  Harry  lin- 
gered 3'et  some  time,  talking  pleasantly  of  many  little 
things.  Then  Harry  was  laid  back  upon  the  snowy 
sheets,  —  the  other  bed  boasted  no  such  luxury,  —  and 
Tom  took  up  his  hat. 

"  1  am  going  again,  Bess,"  he  said ;  "  come  and  help 
me." 

'Bess  followed  him  down  the  many  stairs,  saying,  — 
"  Where  are  you  going  now?  I  thought  you  could  get 
no  more  to-day." 

In  the  open  doorway  Tom  sat  down,  and  Bess  sat 
down  beside  him.  The  afternoon  sun  shone  slanting 
on  the  river,  and  f-parkled  up  into  Amity  Court.     She 


54  THE   CniLDRKX    OF    AMTTY    COUHT. 

lifted  her  earnest,  kindly  face  to  his  ;  hut  Tom  turr.ed  a 
look  of  helpless  trouble  in  reply.  He  had  hid  it  from 
Ilarr}-,  but  now  he  must  pour  out  all  his  anxiety  and 
despair  for  Bess  to  soothe  and  brighten. 

"  If  we  had,  say,  fifty  dollars,  we  could  go  on,  and 
make  money  perhaps.     But  as  it  is,  we  must  give  up." 

"  For  want  of  mone}'  ?  "  said  Bess,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  What  a  pity  we  are  not  rich  rag-pickers !  " 

"It  is  a.  pit}',  and  no  laughing  either,"  Tom  replied, 
gloomily.  "  I  was  just  beginning  to  see  how  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  and  perhaps  save  a  few  dollars  towards 
winter.  I  thought  it  would  all  go  on  smoothly  and 
salel}',  now  I  had  got  started." 

"  And  did  you  mean  to  be  always  a  rag-picker?" 
asked  Bess,  gravely. 

*'  Of  course  not !  "  was  the  indignant  reply. 

"  Then  now  's  tlie  time  to  do  something  better." 

"But  what?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  yet  what  But  when  we  can't 
do  the  old  way,  there  's  always  a  new  waj',  —  gener- 
al h*  a  better  way,  —  only  we  must  try  hard,  and  seek 
bravely  in  order  to  find  it.  I  believe  that  just  because 
jou  can't  pick  rags  any  more,  3'ou  will  find  something 
better  to  do." 

"  I  wish  I  did,"  said  Tom,  gloomily. 

"Try." 

"  But  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  nor  do  you." 


THE    BIRDS    IN    COUNCIL.  55 

"  God  does,"  replied  Bess,  softly ;  "  and  if  we  trj^,  we 
shall  find  out." 

"  Somehow,  seems  as  if —  "  hesitated  Tom,  "  I  should 
feel  better  if  I  knew  myself." 

A. puzzled  little  smile  came  on  Bess's  face.  "Of 
course,"  she  said,  "  or  there  would  n't  be  anything  to 
make  you  try.  Have  you  been  to  see  Cobden  &  Co. 
again?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

«  Ko." 

"  You  said  Mr.  Saunders  promised  you  the  next 
chance." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  went  every  week,  till  New-yeai''s  ;  and 
I've  been  every  month  since  till  — "  Tom  stopped 
short. 

"  Why  not  go  again  now?" 

"  I  suppose  I  shall,  some  day.  But  it  won't  do  any 
good.  I  have  n't  any  hope  there.  Mr.  Saunders  is  only 
the  '  Co  ' ;  he  is  u't  Mr.  Cobden  nor  Mr.  Waters.  If 
it  had  been  the  nice  old  gentleman  who  lost  his  pocket- 
lKX)k  and  was  helped  out  of  a  street  row  by  me,  it 
would  perhaps  have  amounted  to  something  for  me ; 
for  his  word  is  law  there.  Or  if  Mr.  Waters  had  taken 
a  fancy  to  me.  he  could  have  put  me  into  a  good  place. 
But,  you  see,  I  don't  think  Mr.  Saunders  can." 

"  You  can  go  and  try." 

"Of  course." 

"  Well,  go  to-day,  won't  you?" 


56  THE    CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 

"What  for?" 

"  Wh}',  just  to  make  a  beginning.  '  To-day  is  the 
very  best  day  we  have,'  mother  used  to  sa3^" 

"  Yes ;  but  if  I  put  it  off,  I  keep  the  chance. 
After  I  go,  and  get  '  No '  for  an  answer,  it  is  lost." 

"  Then  3'ou  do  hope  a  little,  after  all,"  cried  Bess, 
merrily,  as  Tom  moved  away  up  the  court. 


COBDKN   AND   CO.  57 


CHAPTER   V. 


COBDEN   AND    CO. 


MR.  COBDEN'S  white  hair  was  too  utterly  snowy 
to  have  grown  any  whiter  in  the  last  five  years. 
His  full,  round,  red  foce  was  just  as  round  and  as  red. 
Something  of  the  old  strength  and  energy  of  manner 
had  perhaps  slipped  away  from  him.  The  firm  lines  of 
his  mouth  and  chin  were  a  little  relaxed.  His  step  was 
more  feeble,  and  his  stout  walking-stick  had  grow^n  to 
be  a  friend  for  use  rather  than  for  amusement.  He 
came  late  to  the  counting-room,  as  was  his  custom. 
He  lingered  for  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Saunders  at  the 
desk  in  the  outer  oflSce.  Then  he  went  on,  to  the  busi- 
ness parlor  beyond. 

There,  at  a  hand^some  desk,  sat  Mr.  "Waters,  the 
i:)ractical  head  of  the  firm,  deep  in  a  pile  of  papers  that 
were  spi'ead  before  him.  His  crisp  black  hair,  with  its 
irrepressible  kink,  was  tossed  and  tumbled  b}''  the 
worrying  of  his  nervous  finger.  His  black  brows  were 
bent  in  a  most  unpromising  scowl.  His  black  eyes 
glowered  in  an  anxious,  gloomy  manner. 


58  THE    CniLDKEN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

llr.  Cobden  entered  in  the  blandest  humor.  Put- 
ting down  his  heavy  gold-headed  stick,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  gently  and  cheerfully,  he  tottered  up  to  his 
nephew's  chair.  Mr.  "Waters  wheeled  suddenly  about, 
at  his  approach,  and  shoved  the  papers  aside.  The 
gloomy  scowl  would  linger ;  but  he  placed  a  chair  for 
his  uncle,  and  greeted  him  carelessly,  as  is  the  wont 
between  business  men  Avho  meet  daily. 

"That's  a  good  thing  —  a  good  thing — of  Saun- 
ders 1 "  began  the  old  man.  "  "We  shall  make  a  cool 
twenty  thousand  by  it.  He's  developing  a  talent  for 
business.  Keeps  his  eyes  open  like  a  wide-awake 
man.  Can't  imagine  how  he  managed  to  get  such  a 
bargain." 

"  Yes ;  Saunders  seems  to  hare  made  a  pretty  neat 
thing  of  that  agreement,"  replied  Mi\  Waters,  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  Saunders  is  going  to  make  a  smart  business  man. 
Whoever  the  goose  is  that  has  agreed  to  import  him 
u  bill  of  goods  at  such  prices  must  get  badly  bitten. 
But  Ave  can  afford  it  if  he  can;   hey,  Dick?" 

"  Ye-es,"  with  an  absent  shuffle  of  his  papers. 

"  Another  year  we  must  settle  new  terms  for  Saun- 
ders. His  services  will  be  worth  more.  We  must 
allow  him  something  handsome;  hey,  Dick?  Don't 
you  think  he  ought  to  share  more  equally  with  us?'* 

"How  much  capital  docs  he  represent?" 


COBDEN   AND  CO.  59 

""Well,  not  much,  not  much,  I  admit.  Very  few 
thousand,  I  know.  But  it's  all  he  has  got,  j'ou  see. 
And  that's  just  what  we  put  in!     Hey,  Dick?" 

Mr,  Waters  laughed.  It  was  an  uncomfortable 
and  rather  a  disagreeable  laugh.  But  it  answered 
every  purpose  as  well  as  a  better  one.  Mr.  Cobden 
laughed  too,  in  a  pleased,  simple-hearted  manner  ;  and 
perceiving  that  his  nephew  was  preoccupied  and  dis- 
traught, walked  away  to  his  own  desk  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  and  sat  down  there. 

Very  few  books  or  papers  cumbered  Mr.  Cobden's 
desk.  What  few  belonged  there  were  not  in  so  frequent 
use  as  to  prevent  their  being  kept  in  excellent  and 
orderly  arrangement.  Mr.  Cobden  sat  down,  and 
looked  at  them  in  rapt  contemplation.  He  was  trying 
to  think  of  something  to  do  with  them.  He  had  years 
ago  giA'en  up  all  active  participation  in  the  business  of 
the  firm  which  in  his  earlier  manhood  he  had  founded 
and  fostered.  But  he  loved  to  watch  its  growth  and 
prosperity.  lie  loved  to  hear  of  all  its  interests,  risks, 
and  good  fortune.  It  was  the  darling  of  his  heart ; 
and  for  its  sake,  having  no  children  of  his  own,  he  had 
adopted  his  nei-hew,  Kichard  "Waters,  and  made  him 
his  own  successor,  to  take  the  helm  that  he  knew  him- 
self no  longer  able  to  hold.  But  his  whole  life  was 
still  in  and  for  the  firm.  It  gi-ieved  him  sometimes 
that  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  for  it.     It  grieved 


CO  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

him  now,  as  he  sat  staring  blankly  at  his  own  private 
books  and  papers.  How  dusty  they  were  for  want  of 
constant  use?  They  might  at  least  be  dusted,  and  so 
look  as  if  they  were  in  bus}'^  requisition.  But  it  was 
not  his  business  to  dust  the  office,  and  he  did  not  know 
where  to  find  the  feather-brush. 

"Where's  Louis?"  he  inquired  of  Mr.  Saunders, 
putting  his  head  through  the  door  into  the  outer  office. 

"  Don't  know.     He  has  n't  come." 

"  Not  come  !  "  And  Mr.  Cobden  brought  his  whole 
portly  person  through  the  door,  and  went  up  to  Mr. 
Saunders'  desk.  "  Not  come  !  "  consulting  his  watch. 
"Why,  'tis  twelve  o'clock!" 

"  I  know  it.     I  'm  afraid  he  is  side." 

"Well,  but  if  he  is  sick,  you  know,  he  may  not  come 
for  a  week." 

Mr.  Saunders  was  reading  a  letter,  and  did  not 
immediately  reply. 

"  Everything  is  getting  dusty  and  dirty,"  pursued 
Mr.  Cobden,  fretfully.  "  You  must  get  some  one  else 
at  once.  The  place  is  n't  fit  to  live  in  to-day."  And  he 
kicked  under  the  table  a  wad  of  crumpled  paper  that 
had  escaped  the  waste-basket. 

"  Patrick  swept  out  this  morning,"  quietly  replied 
Mr.  Saunders,  laying  down  the  letter  he  had  finished 
reading. 

"  My  desk   is  so  dusty  I  can't  touch  it,"  grumbled 


COBDEN   AND   CO.  61 

the  old  man  again,  displaying  a  grimy  cuff  that  had 
leaned  too  closely  upon  the  objectionable  piece  of 
furniture. 

Mr.  Saunders  smiled  merrily'.  When  he  was  not  too 
busy,  Mr.  Cobden's  fretfulness  was  apt  to  be  an  amuse- 
ment to  him.  If  busy,  it  was  an  intolerable  annoy- 
ance, and  required  all  his  patience  and  self-control  to 
restrain  hasty  and  angry  replies.  Now,  however,  he 
was  not  very  busy,  and  on  account  of  the  success 
of  his  last  project  was  in  the  best  of  humor ;  so  he 
walked  into  the  parlor,  took  the  feather-brush  from  its 
peg  in  the  closet,  and  neatly  and  carefully  dusted  off 
ever}'  inch  of  Mr.  Cobden's  desk  and  chair.  His  con- 
descension was  even  so  extensive,  that,  having  begun, 
he  went  on  and  dusted  all  the  furniture  of  the  hand- 
somely appointed  room. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Waters  sat  gloomily  bowed  over  his 
desk,  his  03'es  gazing  blankly,  his  face  bLick  and  drawn, 
and  his  whole  consciousness  absent  from  what  trans- 
pired around  him ;  and  Mr.  Cobden  indulged  in  little 
disconnected  phrases  of  talk,  in  whiffs,  as  he  stumped 
up  and  down  the  room  with  his  cane. 

"  Boj's  ought  to  be  regular  —  reliable.  /  always 
was  M'hen  —  boy.  Times  changed.  Louis  LeGrange 
was  never  just  the  boj^  for  this  i)lace.  Unstiddy.  Off 
a  day  here  and  a  day  there.  Tidy  boy.  Well-behaved. 
But  unstiddj'." 


62  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

"  He  has  been  sick,  you  know,"  suggested  Mr  Saun- 
ders. 

" No  business  to  be  sick.  I'm  never  sick.  Get  an- 
otlier  bo}'  —  to-morrow  —  to-da}'.  One  that'll  stick 
stiddy  to  business." 

Mr.  Saunders  had  finished  dusting,  and  returned  to 
his  desk.  But  the  duty  of  getting  a  new  boy  was  by 
no  means  on  his  mind.  Patrick  could  sweep  out.  One 
of  the  clerks  could  dust  and  tidy  up  sufficiently  to  sat- 
isfy fussy  old  Mr.  Cobden ;  and  there  was  little  need 
of  a  bo3\ 

A  rustle  of  soft  silks  startled  the  business  ears  that 
heard  that  sound  but  seldom  in  these  grim  precincts. 
In  at  the  open  door  of  the  office  swept  the  sheeny,  sibi- 
lant lobes,  and  on  through  the  doorwaj^  of  the  office 
parlor.  Mr.  "Waters  heard,  and  the  slight  sound  woke 
him  from  the  revery  which  more  obtrusive  interruptions 
had  failed  to  break. 

Mrs,  "Waters  sailed  across  the  office  parlor,  wearing 
her  sweetest  smile,  and  stood  behind  her  husband's 
chair. 

The  crisp,  black  hair  and  frowning  brows  biecame 
alert,  but  Mr.  "Waters  did  not  raise  his  eyes  or  turn  his 
bead.  He  had  seized  a  pen,  at  the  first  warning  rustle 
of  her  approaching  silks,  and  was  now  so  intent  in 
copying  a  bill  that  happened  to  lie  before  hun,  that  he 


COBDEN   AND   CO.  63 

seemed  utterly  incapable  of  noticing  anything  that 
might  transpire. 

"  I  told  30U  I  woulci  come  down,  Richard,  and  so  I 
have,"  she  said,  in  amiable  accents 

Mr.  "Waters  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her,  with 
an  angr}'  glance  in  his  black  eyes  that  suggested  any- 
thing but  pleasure  at  her  fidelity  to  the  promise,  or 
strong  mutual  affection  between  the  man  and  wife  thus 
placed,  for  the  moment,  face  to  face. 

But  the  lady  feigned  unconsciousness  of  whatever 
might  be  disagreeable  in  the  reception  she  met,  and 
continued,  — 

"  Ma  and  Ria  have  been  over  to  see  me  this  morning*, 
and  jna  thinks  it  will  hardly  cost  so  much  as  I  said. 
Perhaps  a  hundred  or  two  less.  And  if  it  isn't  con- 
venient for  3'ou  to  furnish  the  two  hundred  I  want  to- 
daj',  ma  will  let  me  have  it,  and  you  can  repa^'  her  in  a 
few  daj's." 

Another  flash  from  the  black  eyes.  Mr.  "Waters  rose, 
and  walked  once  or  twice  across  the  floor.  Then  he 
passed  hastily  through  the  outer  office.  But  he  stopped 
at  the  warehouse  door.  Out-ide  was.  Mr  Meredith's 
elegant  carriage,  and  in  it  s:it  Rlrs.  Meredith  and  her 
beautiful  widowed  daughter.  Mrs.  Meredith  nodded, 
and  shook  her  little  delicately  gloved  hand  at  him  mer- 
rily, as  she  greeted  him.  Mr.  Waters  returned  the 
"  Good-ino:ning"  gruffly. 


64  THE    CHILDREN   OV    AMITY   COURT. 

"  You  must  n'L  keep  Sophy  long  !  "  she  said.  "  We 
are  waiting,  3'ou  see." 

"  She  had  not  told  me  that,"  he  said,  with  a  more 
gracious  bow  for  the  fair  young  widow  who  had  shrunk 
back  into  the  corner  and  her  crapes  at  his  approach. 
''  I  must  go  out  on  an  errand  for  her ;  but  I  '11  be  back 
in  a  few  minutes."/ 

Then  he  hastened  down  the  sidewalk.  He  had  only 
thought,  at  first,  to  escape  from  his  wife ;  now  he 
thought  no  more  of  that.  There  was  no  escape.  Mrs. 
Waters  wanted  two  hundred  dollars  to  spend  in  prelira- 
inaiy  repairing  and  enlarging  her  costly  wardrobe  for  a 
summer  trip  among  the  watering-jDlaces  with  her  mother. 
Mr.  Waters  wanted  all  the  money  he  could  command, 
for  some  business  ventures  of  his  own.  Such  little 
contretemps  frequently  occuiTed  between  them,  owing 
to  an  utter  want  of  unity  in  their  interests.  Generally 
Mr.  Waters  was  master  of  the  situation.  To-day  Mrs, 
Meredith  Avas  arrayed  with  her  daughter  against  him ; 
and  he  was  vanquished.  Ten  minutes  later  he  re-en- 
tered the  counting-room,  silently  laid  the  required 
money  before  his  wife,-  and  timed  his  back  upon  her 
Mr.  Waters  cultivated  taciturnity  in  all  liis  family 
relations.  He  considered  it  dignified  to  do  so.  Per- 
haps he  admired  the  virtue  more  because  it  was  one 
in  which  his  wife  was  sadly  deficient. 

The   more  angiy  Mrs.  Waters  was,  the   faster   she 


COBDEN   AND   CO.  65 

talked ;  Ihe  more  angry  Mr.  "Waters  was,  the  more 
utterl}'  and  implacably  silent  he  became.  It  would  be 
hard  to  decide  which  method  was  the  more  irritating 
and  exasperating  to  the  other. 

Mrs.  Waters  gathered  up  the  money  into  her  pocket- 
Dook,  and  with  a  very  cheery  good-morning,  addressed 
airilj^  to  wan  is  the  square  shoulders  of  her  inattentive 
spouse,  who  was  wati  hing  the  evolutions  of  a  flock  of 
pigeons  on  the  rear  slope  of  an  opposite  roof,  she 
swept  out  to  the  carriage,  and  was  driven  away. 

"When  she  was  gone,  Mr.  "Waters  left  the  window  and 
again  sat  down  at  his  desk,  with  the  old  frown  on  his 
brow.  He  had  not  addressed  one  word  to  his  wife,  nor 
did  he,  for  hours,  speak  to  any  one.  He  was  busily  por- 
ing over  plans  and  expedients  in  the  business  world  that 
formed  the  chief  arena  of  his  life. 

Tom  Canton  came  bravely  up  the  warehouse  steps, 
but  he  stopped  at  the  door  of  tlie  counting-room.  lie 
missed  a  face  he  had  learned  to  look  eagerly  for,  —  one 
that  had  always  a  smile  for  him.  It  was  that  of  Louis 
LeGrange.  lie  was  not  there.  Louis  had  heard  Tom's 
frequent  applications,  had  pitied  his  many  disappoint- 
ments, and  once  had  followed  him  to  the  door  to  offer 
his  sympathy  and  say  how  glad  he  should  be  if  they 
only  would  take  Tom,  for  he  was  sure  he  would  be  a 
pleasant  work-fellow.  It  had  cheered  Tom's  heart  won- 
derfully, though  he  knew  the  boy  was  a  friend  who 


66  THE    CHILDKE?f   OF    AMITY   COURT. 

could  have  no  power  to  aid  him.  To-day  he  missed 
those  great,  clear  ej'cs  that  had  alwa^'s  looked  out  from 
the  fair,  delicate  face  with  pleasant  welcome  for  him. 
lie  stood,  hat  in  hand,  just  inside  the  door.  A  clerk 
looked  up,  and  asked  his  errand. 

"  I  came  in  to  see  if  there  was  work  enough  to  need 
another  boj"  here,"  said  Tom,  slowly,  all  the  time  won- 
dering whore  Louis  was. 

"  There  is  a  boy  wanted,  I  believe  ;  is  n't  there,  Mr. 
Saunders  ?  "  said  the  clerk. 

"  Call  to-morrow,  and  I  '11  see,"  was  the  curt  reply, 
without  turning  the  head. 

Tom  was  astonished,  hurt ;  but  surely  Mr.  Saun- 
ders did  not  know  it  was  he.  Mr.  Saunders  had  prom- 
ised him,  last  winter,  the  next  chance  there  was  in  the 
warehouse.  Tom  came  forward,  and  stood  before  Mr. 
Saunders'  desk. 

"  Is  there  a  place  for  a  boy  now?  " 

"0,  it's  5'ou,  is  it?"  said  M:'.  Saunders,  a  little 
less  ungraciously'.  "  "Well,  I  can't  tell  exactlj^,  to-day. 
Louis  has  n't  come,  but  he  mxy  bo  here  to-morrow." 

"0,  I  don't  want  to  take  awa}^  Louis's  place!" 
cried  Tom,  full  of  generosity'-  for  his  friend. 

'*  Xo,  of  cours:.?  not,"  quickly  assented  Mr,  Saunders. 
"  And  so,  3'ou  see,  I  don't  like  to  make  any  talk  about 
it,  now  —  that  is,  until  I  hear  from  him." 

"What's  that?     What's  that?"  cried  Mr.  Cobden, 


COBDEN  AND    CO.  67 

suddenly,  as  bis  Avhite  head  and  rosy  face  popped  out 
from  the  office-parlor.  "  No  keeping  places  for  lads 
that  aren't  stiddy  at  their  work.  "Who  is  this  lad? 
Some  one  j-ou  know  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Saunders.  Then  seeing  the  angry 
color  flash  into  Tom's  face  at  this  denial  of  him,  he 
hastily  added,  "  Not  exactly'  what  t/o?t  would  call  an 
acquaintance,  —  knowing  all  his  lineage  back  for  three 
or  four  generations,  —  but  I  know  him  personally  a 
little." 

"  "Well,  what  do  30U  know  of  him  ?  "  interrogated  the. 
old  man. 

"  I  know  nothing  against  him,  except  that  he  is 
poor,''  replied  Mr.  Saunders,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Might  be  cured  —  might  be  cured  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Cobden,  laughing  heartil}'.  "  "Was  poor  myself  once. 
Got  over  it,  though.  Come  to-morrow  morning  in  good 
season,  lad,  and  hav'e  the  office  swept  and  dusted,  and 
put  in  good  shape.  I  hate  an  untidy  office.  Mind 
now !  At  half-past  seven,  sharp  !  I  like  a  lad  that 's 
smart  and  lively." 

"  Louis  will  probably  be  here  to-morrow,"  coolly 
suggested  Mr.  Saunders. 

"  Can't  help  it  —  can't  help  it!  Should  have  been 
here  to-day !  Mind  and  be  on  hand !  "  And  wamiqgly 
shaking  his  heavy  stick  at  him,  Mr.  Cobden  retreated 
to  the  inner  office. 


68  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

Tom  bowed  assent,  but  still  hardly  knew  whether  to 
consider  himself  engaged  to  work  for  the  firm  or  not. 
He  stood  irresolute ;  when  Mr.  Saunders,  who  had 
ignored  his  presence  the  moment  Mr.  Cobden  was  gone, 
suddenly  turned  on  him,  saying,  — 

'•  Did  n't  you  understand  Mr.  Cobden  to  hire  j'ou  for 
to-morrow?    He  does  n't  want  anything  of  you  to-day." 

Tom  hastily  bowed  and  retired.  Hut  it  was  all  too 
strange  and  surprising  for  him  to  realize,  until  after  he 
had  talked  it  over  with  Bess,  and  accustomed  his  mind 
to  it  by  hearing  the  glad  congratulations  of  his 
brothers. 

Louis  LeGrange  did  not  come  next  morning,  but 
Mr.  Saunders  contrived  to  intimate  to  Tom  that  he  was 
only  employed  temporaril}'^  till  Louis  should  return. 
Mr.  Cobden,  however,  in  the  office-parlor,  praised  Tom's 
quick  readiness,  and  said,  "  Keep  on  and  improve,  my 
lad,  and  you  shall  find  a  good  place  here.  Kemember 
you  are  on  trial  now  —  on  trial ;  and  your  prospects  all 
depend  on  yourself." 

Tom,  counting  Mr.  Cobden  a  more  influential  patron 
than  JNIr.  Saunders,  was  accordingly  encouraged,  and 
felt  secure  in  his  position.  But  he  did  sometimes 
wonder  what  had  become  of  Louis  LeGrange. 


BRISK   BUSINESS.  69 


CHAPTER  VI. 


BRISK    BUSINESS. 


NED  stopped  on  the  front  steps  and  tied  the  rope 
around  Jemmy's  waist,  knotting  it  firmly  behind. 
Jemmy  essayed  remonstrance,  but  Ned  coolly  told  him 
that  no  rope  meant  not  going,  while  Nora  suggested, 
"  Perhaps  we  shall  find  mamma  somewhere  in  the 
street."  Thus  persuaded,  Jemmy  submitted,  and  they 
walked  up  the  court,  Nora  holding  Jemmy  by  the  hand, 
while  Ned  ostensibly  "  carried  the  rope,"  —  carried  it, 
however,  with  a  good,  firm  grip  that  would  not  have 
yielded  to  any  sudden  strain.  Ned  had  already  seen 
enough  of  Jemmy's  peculiarly  enterprising  disposition 
to  be  ou  his  guard  agaiast  surprises. 

It  was  some  distance  to  the  newspaper  office,  and 
Jeminy  saw  a  great  many  interesting  and  curious 
objects  that  challenged  investigation.  But  in  some 
remarkable  way  he  had  already  come  to  stand  in  consid- 
erable awe  of  Ned,  —  a  boy  who  could  stop  a  fight  by 
mere  word  of  mouth,  without  fisty  emphasis,  who  seemed 


70  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COUUT. 

to  liave  command  of  unlimited  resources,  and  carried 
nniniagined  riches  of  nickels  in  his  trowser-pockets. 
Jemmy  had  submitted  to  him  with  unusual  docility,  as 
soon  as  the  chink  of  desirable  pennies  proved  to  him 
Ned's  wonderful  ability.  Thus  it  was  that,  notwith- 
standing the  temptations  of  the  waj',  the  little  party 
reached  the  newspaper  office  without  any  serious  acci- 
dent, or  even  sharp  skirmishing. 

Ned  quickly  secured  a  large  package  of  the  evening 
papers,  and  they  again  started  forth.  In  a  doorway 
Ned  divided  the  papers,  counting  carefully  the  number 
he  gave  to  Nora 

"  Here  are  twenty  papers  to  begin  with,"  he  said, 
"  and  now  I  '11  give  you  a  doUar  in  pennies  to  make 
change.  Three  from  ten  are  how  many?"  he  asked, 
suddenly. 

"  What?  "  queried  Nora  anxiously,  holding  Jemmy's 
wrist  firmh-  while  he  squirmed  to  catch  sight  of  a  tall 
man  in  scarlet  uniform,  who  happened  to  be  passing. 

"  TVliew !  "  whistled  Ned.  "  I  never  thought  about 
the  arithmetic.  Supposed,  of  course,  you  could  make 
change  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can,"-* ventured  Nora.  "  How  do  you 
make  it  ?  " 

Ned  laughed.     "  Not  till  you  can  count." 

"  I  can  count,"  protested  Nora. 

"  Let 's  hear,"  ordered  Ned,  with  attention. 


BRISK   BUSINESS.  71 

Nora  counted  rapidly  till  Ned  stopped  her  iu  the  fifties. 

"  How  far  can  you  go  on  in  that  way ;  "  he  asked. 

"  Tp  a  hundred." 

"  Well,  the  papers  are  three  cents  apiece.  Now  if 
a  man  gave  you  a  ten-cent  scrip,  what  should  you  do?  " 

"  Why  —  ask  him  if  he  had  n't  got  three  cents,"  hes- 
itated Nora. 

Ned  lauglied  again.  "  You  never  traded  mucli,"  he 
said,  with  a  shade  of  disappointment  following  ihe 
laugh.  "  .Supposing  he  had  nt  got  the  three  cents,  —  if 
he  had,  he  would  have  given  them  to  jou  in  the  first 
place,  —  could  n't  you  give  him  back  pennies  enough  to 
make  up  for  what  he  gave  you  too  much  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,"  said  Nora,  brightening  "Jemmy,  don't 
pull  so ! " 

"  How  many?"  asked  Ned. 

Nora  picked  up  the  end  of  Jemmy's  rope  and  handed 
it  to  Ned.  Then  she  took  a  handful  of  the  pennies  Ned 
had  put  in  her  pocUet,  counted  out  ten,  and  put  the 
surplus  back,  took  three  into  tlie  other  hand,  and  after 
rapidly  counting  the  remainder,  announced  the  change 
to  be  seven  cents. 

Ned  looked  on  through  this  somewhat  complicated 
performance,  though  Nora  both  moved  and  coinite  1  rap- 
idl}-,  with  rather  a  doubtful  face 

"  I  don't  know  whether  they  will  care  to  stop  for  all 
that,"  he  said,  slowly. 


72  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITT    COURT. 

"  Then  they  would  n't  get  the  seven  cents,"  said  Nora, 
■wonderingl3% 

Ned  laughed  again.  "  No,  so  they  would  n't.  I 
guess  you  '11  manage  somehow,"  hs  added,  with  bright-; 
ening  face.  Then  he  proceeded  to  give  some  instruc- 
tions, taking  care  to  fix  in  her  mind  the  amount  of 
change  to  be  made  from  a  five,  ten,  and  twenty-five  cent 
piece,  saving  she  would  hardly  have  occasion  to  change 
anything  else.  He  tied  Jemmy  with  rather  a  short 
rope  to  the  iron  clamp  of  the  shutter  of  a  large  show- 
window,  Nora  meanwhile  calling  his  attention  to  the 
beauties  theiein  displayed.  Ned  also  pointed  out  to 
Nora  the  tall  building  opposite  with  a  colored  sign,  the 
two  adjacent  corners,  and  the  flag  on  a  neighboring 
roof.  Bidding  her  keep  near  the  place  and  offer  a 
paper  to  ever}'  man  who  passed,  Ned  moved  away, 
promising  to  return  soon  and  see  how  she  got  on. 

"Nora,  see!  O,  Nora,  there's  a  hand-organ!" 
shrieked  Jemin}',  struggling  vainl}^  with  his  rope. 

"  Get  out  the  way,  j'ouugster ! "  said  a  gruff,  but 
not  unkind  voice,  as  a  burly  man  shoved  Jemmy  and 
his  tether  bade  into  the  doorway.  Then  Nora  ran 
bade  from  her  curbstone  to  sa}', — 

"  You  must  n't  call  me,  Jemmj",  because  I  shall  be 
so  busy  I  can't  hear  you ;  and  j'ou  must  n't  stretch 
the  rope  across  the  sidewalk,  or  the  people  Avill  fall 
over  it.     Sit  down  here  on  the  step,  and  watch  all  the 


BRISK   BUSINESS.  73 

people,  and  see  if  you  can  find  mamma.  I  have  to 
ask  the  men  to  buy  papers,  so  I  don't  see  the  women. 
You  must  keep  watch  of  them.  Now,  be  a  good  boy, 
Jemm}',  won't  you?" 

"Ye-es,"  was  the  grave  reply,  the  bhie  e3^es  of 
the  speaker  fixed  on  the  passing  throng. 

"  Paper,  sir?     Paper,  sir?     Have  a  paper   sir?" 

It  was  not  at  all  like  the  usual  shrill  tones  of  news» 
venders.  One  after  another  stopped,  with  a  smile  for 
the  timid  little  face  and  voice,  and  produced  the  requi- 
site pennies  to  purchase  of  the  news-  girl.  She  changed 
fives  and  tens  successfully  many  times,  though  some- 
what to  the  amusement  of  the  waiting  customer.  The 
afternoon  was  waning ;  the  sidewalk  became  crowded. 
Ned  had  been  twice  to  look  at  her,  and  supply  her  with 
more  papers.  He  was  stationed  some  two  blocks 
lower  down  the  street.  Jemmy  would  get  into  fre- 
quent dilemmas  with  his  tether,  impatience,  and  ex- 
citement ;  but  Nora  managed  to  keep  him  tolerably 
contented,  and  yet  have  time  for  her  work.  She 
scarcely  dared  look  up  into  the  faces.  Seeing  so  many 
strange  "ones  frightened  hi-r ;  and  some  of  them  were 
anything  but  pleasant  or  sunshiny.  So  she  kept  her 
timid,  black  eyes  on  the  pavement,  and  offered  her 
papers  before  each  pair  of  advancing  legs.  One  hand 
that  took  a  paper  offered  in  payment  a  half-dollar. 

Nora  looked  at  it  aghast.     She  had  utterly  forgotten 


74  THE  CHILDKEK  OF  AMITY  COURT. 

how  it  was  she  was  to  change  the  twentj-five  cent  piece, 
—  and  this  she  saw  had  a  fifty  on  it,  and  so  perhaps 
wasn't  a  twenty-five  cent  piece  at  all.  Puzzled  and 
frightened,  she  lifted  a  pleading  face  to  her  customer. 

"  Can't  3'ou  change  it?"  he  asked,  kindly. 

"  Xo,  sir  ;  I  don't  know  how,"  she  said,  sadly. 

"O,  is  that  all?  Let  mo  see  3'onr  change,  and  I'll 
show  you  how." 

Nora  took  out  a  handful  of  scrip,  pennies,  and  post- 
age-sta-.np3  fro:n  her  pocket,  and  held  it  up  in  both 
hands  for  th9  g2ntleman's  inspection.  As  she  did  so 
she  lookeil  up  once  more  into  his  face.  There  was  a 
smile  on  it,  half  of  a:uuseaient  and  half  of  kindness ; 
his  hair  poepod  in  soft,  brown  waves  from  beneath  a 
light,  straw  hat ;  beard,  thin  and  brown,  shaded  his 
mouth  and  chin ;  and  a  pair  of  gentle,  deep,  brown 
eyes  were  looking  quietly  down  on  the  mass  of  dirty 
cash  o;Tered  for  his  choice.  Noi-a  was  glad  when  the 
dainty-gloved  fingers  selected  the  cleanest  piece.  It 
seemed  appropriate.  Then  he  went  on  turning  it  over 
gingerl}',  and  picking  out  other  pieces.  Nora  stood 
quietly,  her  papers  tucked  imder  her  arm,  her  little 
s.i.nrner  hat  fallen  back  on  her  shoulders,  and  the  fine 
i  lark  hair  in  a  frizzy  cloud  around  her  flushed  fixce,  jos- 
tle! often  1)3'  the  passers,  both  hands  upstretched  with 
the  change,  and  her  mind  full  of  wonder  at  the  number 
of  pieces  it  took  to  make  change  for  fifty  cents.     A 


BRISK   BUSINESS. 


75 


sudden  shriek  fi*om  Jemmy  sent  a  cringe  of  dread  over 
the  poor  little  girl.  What  had  happened  now  there 
was  no  knowin-;.  She  jammed  the  change  back  in  her 
pocket,  and,  followed  by  her  customer,  rushed  away 
in  season  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Jemmy's  red  and  dis- 
torted face  over  the  siioulder  of  a  tall  policeman,  who 
was  carrying  him  oflT  bodily. 

"  O,  please  — ■  please,  sir  !  '  crie  1  Xora,  catching  the 
stem  officer  by  the  skirt  of  his  dark  blue  coat,  •'  don't 
carry  him  off!  lie's  ray  Jemmy,"  she  added,  in  reply 
to  his  look  of  surprise.  "  lie  '11  be  good,  sir,  he  '11  be 
verj'  good,  if  you  '11  only  put  him  down.  I  '11  take  care 
of  him." 

"  Can't  have  him  tied  there  across  the  sidewalk," 
said  the  ofRcer,  decidedl}'.  "I've  chucked'^ him  back 
into  that  doorway  three  times  this  afternoon  already. 
I  ought  to  have  carried  him  away  befo:  e  now." 

"  But  hi  won't  go  out  of  the  doorway  again ;  will 
you,  Jemm}'  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  cowed  answer.  Jemmy  had  ceased 
his  tempest  of  expostulation  when  Nora  came  to  the 
rescue,  and  was  now  sniffling  mildly,  and  wiping  his 
face  on  his  sheve. 

The  officer  looked  about  in  perplexity.  It  was  his  ^uty 
to  keep  the  streets  clear,  but  he  didn't  like  to  be  cruel. 

"  You  had  better  take  your  brother  home,"  he  said  to 
Nora. 


76  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

*'  So  I  will  —  very  soon.  Bat  I  cloa't  know  the  way, 
• —  till  Ned  comes  for  me." 

"  He  will  hardly  make  any  more  trouble  to-night," 
said  Mortimer  Salsb\',  with  a  pleasant  smile  in  mouth 
and  eyes,  as  he  stood,  still  holding  his  newly-bought 
paper  in  one  hand,  and  some  bits  of  money  in  the 
other. 

"Well,  we'll  see,  "replied  officer  Staut,  doubtfully, 
as  he  put  Jemmy  on  his  feet  again,  and  twisted  his 
tether  round  his  waist,  with  a  laugh. 

*•  I  want  two  cents  more,"  said  Mr.  Salsb}^  to  Nora. 

"  Confound  two  cents !  You  won't  break  if  we  go 
without  'era ! "  exclaimed  another  gentleman,  who, 
Nora  now  first  noticed,  was  waiting  for  Mr.  Salsby. 

But  Mr.  Saisby  vouchsafed  no  reply  to  the  snappish 
words,  and  having  received  the  two  cents  explained  to 
Nora  that  two  twenty-fives  made  fift}',  and  then  slowly 
counted  over  the  change  to  her.  Nora  listened  atten- 
tively, for  she  i<new  she  must  learn. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  pleased 
face,  and  thinking  how  kind  he  was,  and  that  no  one 
else  had  spokon  a  single  word  to  her.  To  be  sure,  he 
would  not,  if  she  could  have  changed  his  money.  But 
Nora  did  not  think  of  that. 

"  It  is  new  work  for  you,  I  see,"  the  gentleman  said. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  never  did  it  till  to-day.  But  I  '11  soon 
learn ;  and  Jemmy  '11  bo  good  when  he  gets  used  to  it." 


BRISK   BUSINESS.  77 

Jemmy  had  kept  tight  hold  of  Nora's  dress,  ever 
since  the  policeman  set  him  on  Ms  feet  again. 

Mr.  Salsb}'  took  a  silver  quarter  from  his  vest- 
pocket,  saying,  — 

"  There 's  a  luck-pennj'  for  your  fix-st  day.  I  '11 
hope  to  bu}'  papers  of  you  again  sometime." 

"  Not  if  it  takes  h3r  so  long  to  make  change," 
growled  Mr.  "\Vat(TS,  as  they  walked  away,  leaving 
Nora  OA'ercomc  with  gratitude,  and  a  rush  of  tears  that 
had  somehow  come  crowding  into  her  eyes,  though  she 
had  not  the  least  desire  to  cry.  ""Women  never  do 
have  any  idea  of  money." 

Mr.  Salsby  looked  gravely  in  his  companion's  face. 
"Then  j'ou  call  her  a  woman?" 

"  She  will  be  if  she  grows  up  "  was  the  careless 
reply,  and  Mr.  Salsby's  eyes  wandered  disappointedly 
away.  "  They  are  all  alike  —  women,"  contempt- 
iioush'  added  INIr.  Waters,  with  an  angry,  discontented 
cloud  in  his  sharp  ej'es. 

''  I  think  if  your  acquaintance  had  been  more 
extended,  j'ou  would  be  of  a  different  mind.  It  does 
not  follow  that  no  woman  knows  the  value  of  money 
because  some  do  not." 

"  They  are  all  alike.  Mrs.  Sleredith,  ]\Irs.  Donald- 
sou,  and  my  wife,"  muttered  Mr.  "Waters.  "  All 
Merediths,  and  all  alike,  the  whole  family." 

"  Nonsense  !  "   was   the   half-earnest,   half-laughing 


78  THE    CHILDHEX    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

exclamation.  "  Tliero  is  marked  clifTarence  in  the 
character  of  the  ladies  you  have  soen  fit  to  introduce. 
A  family  similarity  of  course  there  is,  but  it  is  of  the 
Roberts  family,  please  observe,  not  the  Meredith." 

Mr.  "Waters  stopped  short  in  his  walk  for  a  moment, 
as  if  it  were  a  new  thought  to  him,  then  went  mood- 
ily on. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  j'ou  to-day,  "Waters?" 
resumed  Mr.  iSalsby,  more  cheerily. 

''  "Well,  I  am  savage,  I  admit,  I  have  just  planned  a 
fine  new  branch  for  the  business,  and  we  want  to  intro- 
duce it  immcdiatelj^ ;  and  as  things  stand  now,  our 
capital  is  all  in,  and  we  must  negotiate  a  loan  some- 
where before  we  can  enlarge  as  we  want  to.  1  hate  to 
work  On  borrowed  capital.  "We  should  aim  to  pay  it 
ofi",  fast  as  possible.  But  we  must  begin  so.  I  would 
not  favor  undertaking  it,  if  it  was  n't  going  to  be  a 
specially  good  thing.  Have  n't  you  gut  a  few  spare 
thousand  to  invest  at  a  big  per  cent?  " 

"  You  know  ni}'  propert}^  is  all  in  real  estate." 

"  You  might  sell  some.     This  would  pay  better." 

"  No,  I  woulil  raiher  not  do  that.  "Why  don't  yoa. 
put  off  enlarging  for  the  present,  while  everything  is  so 
high?  "When  the  war  is  over,  such  a  change  will  come 
easier." 

"  Ah,  but  now  is  just  the  time  to  make  it  go !  By 
and  by  will  be  too  late." 


BUISK   BUSINESS.  79 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  Mr.  "Waters'  handsome 
bouse,  and  with  a  few  words  of  farewell,  parted. 

Meanwhile  Nora  still  stood  in  her  place,  offering  her 
papers,  and  selling  many  to  the  passers  on  the  now 
teeming  sidewalk. 

"  Stay  close  by  me,"  she  said  earnestly  to  Jemmy. 
And  Jemmy  seemed  to  have  no  disposition  to  disobey. 

The  crowd  jostled  and  hurried  by.  The  sale  of 
papers  slackened ;  Nora  looked  about,  and  found  no 
Jemmy  at  her  side.  It  was  perhaps  five  minutes  since 
she  last  felt  him  pull  at  her  dress,  and  luan  close  against 
her  to  avoid  being  brushed  awa^^  by  the  hurrying  people. 
Nora  looked  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  dodging  in  and 
out  among  the  passers.  But  no  Jemm}'  could  she  find. 
She  called,  but  her  voice  seemed  to  go  only  a  few 
inches  from  iier,  and  served  merely  to  fix  .many  wonder- 
ing eyes  on  herself.  When  she  had  searched  as  far  as  she 
dared  to  go  from  her  post,  and  found  no  trace  of  him, 
she  stepped  in  an  agony  of  terror  within  ttie  doorway 
where  he  had  first  been  placod.  She  was  growing  very 
tired ;  and  the  heat,  weariness,  and  fear  were  too  much 
for  hor  to  bear.  There  wus  nothing  to  be  done  but 
wait  for  Ned.  She  dared  not  go  away.  And  how  long 
it  seemed  since  Ned  had  brought  her  the  last  papers ! 
Dropping  her  head  in  her  hands  upon  her  lap,  the  sobs 
c  ame  chokmg  in  her  throat,  and  would  not  be  crowded 
back. 


80  TnE   CHlLDliEN   OF    AMITY   COURT. 

"  Here  he  is,  Nora ;  dou't  cry,"  said  Ned's  cheerful 
voice ;  and  Nora  looked  up  to  see  Jemmy  standing 
beside  her,  with  a  decidedly  crestfallen  and  disgusted 
air. 

Jemmj'  had  been  tempted  by  a  monke}',  riding  home 
on  a  hand-organ.  He  followed  it  only  a  few  steps. 
Seeing  this,  the  organ-grinder  asked  if  he  would  like  to 
feed  the  monkey.  Of  course,  Jemmy  would  like  noth- 
ing better.  The  man  said,  "  If  you  will  go  along  to  a 
place  where  I  can  set  down  the  organ,  you  shall  feed  the 
monkey  with  a  cake."  And  Jemmy  went.  At  first 
very  willingly  ;  but  when  they  had  crossed  a  street  he 
began  to  hesitate,  and  the  organ  grinder  took  hold 
of  his  wrist  just  as  everybod}'  else  always  did.  Then 
it  was  that  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes  spied  him  out,  and 
Ned's  salutation,  more  energetic  than  complimentary, 
sounded  in  his  ears. 

"  Here,  you  little  rat !  what  are  you  nmning  off  with 
that  monkey  for  ?  " 

The  organ-grinder  obsequiously  explained,  that  he 
was  going  to  let  him  see  the  monkey  eat  his  supper. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  have  j'ielded  up  his  captive  so 
readil}',  were  it  not  for  Officer  Staut  who  stood  uear, 
looking  sternly  on. 

"  Come,  we  '11  go  home  now,"  said  Ned.  "  It  is  time 
this  young  traveller  was  asleep,  —  and  3'ou  too." 

Snug  in  the  twilight  of  the  "  birds'  nest,"  they  told 


BRISK   BUSINESS.  81 

their  adventures  ami,  counted  their  money.  Jemmy 
could  with  difficulty  keep  awake  till  his  supper  was 
eaten. 

Tom  was  there  too,  with  his  good  news ;  and  joy 
and  happiness  prevailed. 

"  This  has  been  sucli  a  nice  day  !  "  said  Harry,  turn- 
ing his  blue  eyes  from  one  to  another  with  loving  looks, 
—  each  one  a  caress.  "  I  wish  things  would  happen, 
and  people  come  here  every  day." 

"  If  people  came  every  day,  there  would  have  to  be 
people  going  away  too,"  said  Bess,  "  and  that  would 
not  be  so  pleasant." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  Nora  can  stay,"  replied  Harry,  softly. 

Nora  went  timidly  and  kissed  him  good-night.  A 
third  bed  had  been  arranged  on  the  floor.  A  curtain 
that  hung  against  the  wall  was  stretched  across,  divid- 
ing the  room.  Ned  was  soon  asleep  beside  Jemmy. 
Tom  took  what  had  before  been  Bess's  place  in  Harry's 
cot ;  while  Bess  and  Nora  made  themselves  as  com- 
fortable as  they  could  in  the  new  bed  curtained  off  in  a 
comer.  Tired  out,  but  all  very  happy,  they  slept 
soundly  till  the  sun  peeped  in  with  the  morning. 


82  THE    CUiLDUEN    OF    AMITY   COUfiX. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

PLANS. 

"  /^UEER  work  for  a  girl,"  said  Tom  Canton,  look- 

^^\j  ing  dubiously  after  the  i-etreating  figures  of  Ned 
and  Nora  as  they  went  softly  out,  taking  Jemmy  with 
them,  earl}'  the  next  morning. 

Tom  and  Bess  were  moving  quietly  about  without 
shoes,  for  Ilarrj'  was  not  yet  awake.  The  little  invalid 
was  generally  wakeful  all  the  first  part  of  the  night, 
and  found  his  best  sleep  after  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

Ned's  business  required  an  early  start,  and  the 
children  had  all  learned  the  gentleness  that  tender 
care  of  a  weaker  dear  one  never  fails  to  impart.  So 
Harry  slept  softl}',  while  Tom  noiselessly  sorted  their 
last  sack  of  rags,  and  Bess  sat  mending  some  of  Ned's 
sadly  worn  clothes.  At  Tom's  words  she  looked  up 
with  a  troubled  glance,  but  did  not  speak. 

At  length  Harry  moved,  lifted  his  arms  with  a  weary 
little  yawn,  and  said  ''  Good-morning  "  pleasantly. 


PLANS.  83 

"Had  a  good  sleep?"  asked  Bess,  with  a  bright 
smile  of  morning  welcome. 

"  Yes      Has  Ned  been  long  gone  ?  " 

"  Half  an  honr." 

"And  Nora?" 

"  She  went  with  him." 

*'  I  think  we  had  better  send  them  to  the  asylum," 
said  Torn. 

"  O,  don't !  "  said  Harry. 

And  Bess  added,  "  Not  yet." 

"  It  will  be  only  putting  it  off,"  said  Tom,  "  for  in 
the  end  we  shall  have  to  take  them  there  when  we  go 
ourselves." 

"  O,  no  !  "  cried  Bess,  heartily.  "  How  can  3^ou  say 
so,  Tom,  when  30U  have  just  got  work  yourself,  and  we 
shall  all  do  better  than  ever,  soon  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  that  I  may  be  turned  off  any  day 
from  my  new  place  ?  I  have  not  a  particle  of  confi- 
dence in  that  Saunders,  and  I  know  he  does  n't  want 
me  to  stay.  Even  if  I  sta}'^,  my  pa}""  will  be  little  more 
than  I  have  been  earning,  and  3^ou  will  have  nothing 
at  all  to  do." 

"■  You  arc  greatly  mistaken,  Tom  Canton,  if  3'^ou 
tliink  I  am  going  to  do  nothing,"  replied  Bess, 
warmly. 

"You'll  have  to  do  that  till  you  get  something  to 
do,"  retorted  Tom,  gloomily. 


84  THE  CniLDREK  OF  AMITf  CODKT. 

"Of  course.  And  getting  something  is  just  what  I 
am  going  about." 

"  The  getting  is  neither  pleasant  nor  profitable,  only 
the  doing  pays." 

Bess  laughed  uneasily.  "  You  have  got  up  wrong 
side  out  this  morning." 

Tom  looked  up  witli  a  forced  smile,  tliat  instantly 
gave  place  to  his  former  expression  of  grave  concern. 
"  Perhaps  so ;  but  really,  Bess,  things  don't  look  quite 
clear  to  me,  if  they  have  mended  a  little.  I  would  as 
lief  starve  quickly  from  having  nothing  to  eat,  as  by 
Inches  for  never  having  enough.'' 

"O,  Tom,  how  can  you?"  cried  Bess,  glancing  anx- 
lousl}'  at  Harry,  whom  she  did  not  like  to  have  hear 
such  discouraging  talk. 

"  Well,  I  '11  hold  my  tongue." 

"  And  I  've  been  thinking,  Tom,  of  how  to  arrange 
things.  I  have  a  plan  already.  I  can  sell  papers  with 
Ned  and  Nora.  Ned  says  there  can't  be  too  many  in 
that  business  since  the  war." 

"  You  're  too  old,"  said  Tom,  decidetlly. 

'•Too  old?  "Why,  3'ou  sold  papers  till  six  months 
ago  !  and  I  'm  only  just  thirteen.  I  'm  not  too  old  at 
thirteen,  if  you  were  not  at  fifteen." 

"  You  're  a  girl,"  oracularly  pronounced  Tom. 

Bess  colored  painfully,  and  was  silent.  She  felt  for 
some  reason  too  much  shamed  by  this  simple  statement 


PLANS.  85 

to  (lure  open  her  mouth  further.  Yet  why,  she  could 
not  hnagine.     Neither  could  Harry,  and  he  asked,  — 

"AY hat  of  that?" 

Tom  glanced  up,  but  did  not  at  once  reply.  The 
truth  was,  he  did  not  know  how. 

"  Girls  have  to  eat  all  the  same,"  pursued  Harry, 
thoughtfully,  "  and  sometimes  they  have  to  earn  what 
they  eat." 

"  Which  is  a  great  pity,"  said  Tom,  earnestly. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Bess,  quietly. 

A  long  silence  followed.    Ilany  broke  it. 

"  Tom,  why  don't  3'ou  tell  us  just  why  you  don't  want 
Bess  to  sell  papers  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you." 

"  Being  a  girl  is  no  reason." 

"  Yes,  it  is  ;  because  newsboys  lead  a  rough  life  ;  they 
swear,  and  do  and  say  all  manner  of  coarse,  low  things  !" 

"  "Well,  you  did  n't ;  and  3'ou  don't  suppose  Bess 
would?" 

"  No,  but  I  don't  want  her  to  see  and  know  anything 
about  it." 

"Well,  Tom,  I  shouldn't,"  said  Bess.  "I  don't 
believe  they  would  evei-  be  rude  to  me,  because  I  should 
never  be  rude  to  them,  and  because  —  well,  perhaps 
because  I  am  a  girl ! " 

"  Of  course  they  would  n't  be  rude  to  you,  but  you 
would  see  and  hear  coarse,  profane  talk." 


86  THE    CIIILDUEX    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

"  Really,  Tom,  I  had  no  thought  of  associating  with 
newsboy's  any  more  than  I  have  before.  Having 
two  brothers  in  the  business,  I  could  n't  heli)  some 
acquaintance  with  that  dreadful  race.  I  presume 
there  are  other  good  boys  who  sell  papers.  And  I 
make  ni}-  friends,  not  for  their  happening  to  be  in  the 
same  work,  but  because  they  are  worth  having  for 
friends." 

"  Then  there 's  the  exposure  in  the  street,  all 
day." 

"  O,  I  was  used  to  that  when  I  went  for  rags  !  We 
can't  have  such  storms  as  last  winter." 

"I  did  n't  mean  that.  But  pushing  round  among 
strangers  all  da}'  long.  Suppose  some  one  should 
carry  j'ou  off?  ' . 

Bess  laughed  out  heartily.  "  Why,  Tom  Canton, 
what  an  absurd  idea!  Nobody  could,  unless  I  were 
fool  enough  to  follow  a  monkey  or  some  such  thing,  as 
Jemmy  did.  And  j'ou  Jcnow  I  have  sense  enough  to 
attend  to  my  business,  and  call  a  policeman  if  any  one 
hinders   me." 

"  Tom  's  cross  about  something  this  morning,"  said 
ITarry,  consolingly. 

"  I  'ra  sorry  he  is  so  set  against  it,"  Bess  said, 
gravely,  "  because  there  is  really  nothing  else  I  can 
find  to  do  just  no.w.  I  've  thought  over  everything, 
and   so,   I   shall  have  to  sell   papers."     It  was   very 


PLANS.  87 

quietly  and  soflly  said,  but  there  was  firm  resolve  under 
the  gentleness. 

"  I  shall  be  very  much  displeased,  Bess,  if  j'ou  do," 
said  Tom,  with  authority. 

Bess  dropp  d  her  work  in  her  lap,  and  rocked  in  the 
mother's  low  rocker,  silently,  with  her  eyes  gazing 
straight  forward  as  if  they  would  look  far  down  the  dim 
future.  But  there  was  no  doubt  in  their  clear  depths, 
no  wavering  about  the  still,  grave  mouth. 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Tom,"  pleaded  Harry.  "  I'm  sure 
Bess  would  n't  do  an3'thing  that  was  n't  l>est  to  be  done." 

But  Tom  made  no  reply  as  he  hurried  on  with  his 
work,  anxious  to  finish  and  sell  these  last  rags  before 
he  began  the  day's  work  at  his  new  place. 

"And  Tom,*'  persisted  Ilarr}',  turning  his  pure,  pale 
little  fixce  upon  the  pillow,  "  what 's  the  use  of  all  this 
fussing  about  boys'  work  and  girls'  work  ?  There  is  n't 
really  any  diflTerence,  except  what  5'ou  think  into  it 
yourself." 

Tom  raised  his  head,  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
delicate  face  turned  towards  him. 

"  You  know,  when  we  were  little,  we  all  used  to  play 
and  talk  and  think  the  same,  and  Bess  was  just  like 
the  rest  of  us,  —  we  never  thought  of  telling  her  she 
was  a  girl.  And  I  know  she  thinks  and  feels  just  aa 
you  do  now.  And  there  isn't  really  any  difference, 
only  in  j'our  thinkir.g   about  it." 


88  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY  COURT. 

It  was  Tom's  turn  to  blush  now.  Bess  rose,  and 
began  setting  out  Ilany's  breakfast.  Tom  stufTecl  the 
sorted  rags  into  their  several  sacks.  Harry  had  hit  a 
deeper  truth  than  he  himself  quite  understood. 

Bess  came  and  took  him  in  her  arms  to  the  table 
for  his  breakfast.  Tom  shouldered  his  sacks,  and  car- 
ried them  down-stairs.  He  would  not  return  till  night. 
Bess  and  Harr^'-  were  left  alone  for  the  day.  After 
breakfast,  Hany  was  laid  in  his  bed  till  Bess  had  put 
away  his  dishes.  Then  she  took  him  up,  and  rocked 
him  for  half  an  hour. 

"  I  've  got  a  plan  too,  Bess,"  Harry  said,  as  he  rested 
a  flushed  cheek  on  her  shoulder,  and  half  closed  his 
eyes  in  the  languor  of  painless  weakness. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it?  "  asked  Bess,  with  assumed 
asperity  and  a  very  contradictory  smile. 

"  O,  don't  go  to  being  '  very  much  displeased,' " 
returned  Harry,  with  a  comic  counterfeit  of  Tom's 
manner. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Bess. 

"  I  remember  a  story  you  read  to  me  once,  of  a  boy 
who  was  sick,  and  who  earned  money  by  carving  pretty 
things  out  of  wood, —  brackets,  frames,  and  such  things. 
And  I  was  thinking  perhaps  I  could  learn  to  do  some 
such  thing." 

Harrj'^  paused,  and  Bess  rocked  silently. 

*'  Are  you  '  very  much  displeased '  ?  "  he  asked,  with 


PLANS.  89 

an  earnest  voice,  that  belied  the  effort  for  pleasantry  in 
the  words. 

"No,  Harry,  of  course  not.  I  was  only  thinking 
how  we  could  manage  it.  You  would  need  a  nice  knife 
and  then  some  wood.  But  first  you  would  need  prac- 
tice, and  you  could  have  that  with  Tom's  old  knife  — 
he  could  get  it  shaipened  for  you  —  and  any  soft  pine 
we  could  pick  up  for  you  where  there  is  a  building 
going  up.  Then  j'ou  want  nice  wood  when  you  have 
learned." 

"  And  I  want  pencil  and  paper  to  draw  the  figures  I 
will  carve.     I  love  dearly  to  draw  figures." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bess,  still  thinking,  as  she  rocked 
elowl}'. 

"  Meg 's  coming,"  said  Ilarr}-,  as,  far  down  the  long 
stairs,  were  heard  slow,  irregular  footsteps  ascending. 

"  So  she  is,"  Bess  answered,  listening. 

"  Poor  Meg  ! "  Harry  added,  his  face  softening  with 
pity. 

The  door  opened.  It  was  poor  Meg  indeed.  She 
came  in  a  couple  of  steps,  and  halted,  hesitating. 

"  Come  in,  Meg,"  said  Bess,  pleasantly. 

Meg  shut  the  door  and  moved  towards  a  chair.  She 
was  certainly  the  forlomest  creature  that  could  be  seen 
in  much  searching.  No  one  knew  who  she  was  or 
whence  she  came.  She  happened.  The  oldest  inhabi- 
tant of  Amity  Court  remembered  her  as  a  six-year-old 


90  THE    CniLDRKN    OF    AMITT    COURT. 

child,  who  lived  in  the  court.  But  she  never  belonged 
particularly  to  an^'  one.  "When  she  was  hungrj',  no  one 
refused  her  a  crust.  In  one  way  or  another,  also,  she 
had  always  contrived  to  have  a  gown  to  cover  her, 
though  she  had  little  else.  In  whatsoever  house  night 
found  her,  there  she  was  allowed  to  sleep.  Every  one 
pitied  her.  Meg  paid  for  the  favors  she  received,  hy 
many  a  small  service  gladly  rendered.  She  was  even 
more  grateful  for  an  opportunity  to  be  useful,  than  for 
the  daily  bread  that  was  pitifully,  though  kindly,  given. 

Meg  was  dimly  conscious  that  she  was  not  quite  as 
other  folks.  Wherein  la}'^  the  difference  she  could  not 
divine.  That  there  was  a  difference  she  felt,  no  less 
keenly  because  vaguelj',  in  a  hundred  little  incidents  of 
ever}'  day ;  and  the  feeling  went  eating  through  her 
heart,  i:i  a  blind  pain,  all  day  long. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to-day,  Meg?"  asked  Bess. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  with  listless  vacancy. 
"Do  3-0U  know  of  anything?"  she  asked,  suddenly, 
brightening  with  the  hope. 

"  No,  Meg.  I  'm  sorry.  I  don't  even  know  what 
to  do  myself." 

"  I  shall  have  something  for  you  to  do  by  and  by, 
Meg,"  said  Harry. 

"Widyou?  What  is't?  Something  I  can?"  were 
the  eager  questions,  as  Meg  bent  forward  on  her  chair, 
—  she  never  sat  in  a  chair,  but  roosted  awkwardly  on 


PLANS. 


91 


the  edge  of  it.  Her  faded  eyes  brightened  as  they 
gazed  hungrily  out  from  her  pinched  and  sallow  face. 
Her  wide  mouth  widened  yet  more  for  a  smile. 

"  I  '11  lay  3-0U  down  on  the  other  bed,  Harry,"  said 
Bess,  "  while  I  make  yours." 

"  O  !  could  n't  I  ?  "  cried  ileg,  suddenly,  springing 
forward,  with  her  long,  thin  arms  outstretched.  "I'd 
like  to  hold  him." 

"  Only  Tom  and  I  hold  him,"  said  Bess,  walking  on 
towards  the  other  bed. 

The  truth  was,  ''  Amity  Meg  "  was  not  altogether  an 
inviting  person  for  such  a  service.  How  could  she 
be?  Still,  the  look  of  bitter  pain  that  came  crushing 
down  over  her  hopeless  old-3'oung  face  went  to  the 
heart  of  both  Bess  and  Harry.  Bess  stayed  her  steps, 
and  looked  down  into  Harry's  eyes.     Harry  said,  — 

"  I  'd  rather  Meg  held  me." 

The  smile  of  delight  on  that  wan,  simple  face  repaid 
the  boy  for  his  own  sacrifice,  as  the  ready  arms  cradled 
him  gently  ai  a  mother's,  and  carried  him  back  to  the 
rocicer. 

Bess  made  the  bed,  while  Harry  explained  to  ^leg 
his  plan  of  carving,  and  asked  her  to  bring  him 
bits  of  soft  pine  wood  from  the  refuse  of  carpenters 
at  some  new  buildhig.  Harry  found  his  nurse  not 
only  less  disagreeable  than  he  expected,  but  quite 
soothing  and  comforting.     "When  Bess  was  ready  to 


92  THE    CHILDREN'    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

go  out  for  her  slender  marketing,  Harry  chose  to 
remain  with  Meg,  instead  of  going  again  into  his  bed. 
Thej'  made  a  curious  picture,  —  the  castaway,  "  Amity 
Meg,"  and  the  delicate,  crippled  Harry  Canton.  The 
vacant,  simple,  staring  look  had  quite  gone  out  of 
Meg's  face,  —  it  alwa3's  went  when  she  took  a  child 
in  her  arms.  The  sharp  angularity  of  her  features 
seemed  softened  in  the  tenderness  that  flooded  them. 
The  dull  e3'cs  were  love-lighted.  The  long  arms  lost 
their  awkward  listlessness,  and  became  elastic  and 
gentle.  Even  the  harsh  brush  of  unkempt  hair,  rusty 
and  uneven,  fell  like  a  kind  curtain  to  conceal  defects. 

Hugged  to  the  hollow  chest  of  this  sad  representa- 
tive of  a  city's  refuse  population,  lay  the  fair,  sweet 
face  of  Harry  Canton.  Beaming  with  gentle  pleasure 
in  the  rest  afforded  his  weary  little  body,  happy  in  know- 
ing that  Meg  was  as  glad  as  himself,  Harr3''s  blue  eyes 
shone  softly,  and  his  sweet  lips  wore  a  smile  that  de- 
lighted Meg,  and  was  not  more  pure  and  lovely  than 
Meg's  own,  though  the  face  was  so  strangely  unlike. 

Bess  stopped  in  the  doorway  to  look  at  them  when 
she  returned.  She  could  not  help  smiling,  too,  as  she 
saw  them  so  happy  together. 

"Now,  I'll  go  back  to  my  bed,"  said  Harry;  and 
Meg  put  him  tenderly  down. 

"  You  look  better  than  when  j'ou  came  in,  Meg,"  said 
Bess. 


PLANS.  93 

Meg  stood  up,  squared  out  her  sharp  elbows  akimbo, 
and  sighed,  — 

"  I  was  n't  feeling  just  right  to-day,"  she  answered, 
slowl}',  the  old  vacant  look  creeping  back  to  her  face. 
"  But  seemed  as  if  I  got  over  it  while  I  had  him." 

"  Are  you  sick?  "  asked  Bess,  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  simple  reply  ;  "  do  you  think 
I  am  ?  " 

"  Seems  to  me  you  don't  look  quite  as  usual."  And 
Bess  scanned  her  face  with  perhaps  a  shade  more  keen- 
ness than  sympathy. 

Meg  went  and  looked  out  the  window.  The  sun  was 
gleaming  bjightly  on  the  river.  She  turned  away  and 
sat  down  again. 

"  Sometimes  it 's  a  snapping  in  my  head,  and  some- 
times it's  a  heaviness  in  my  legs,"  she  said,  ''but  I 
often  has  pains  that  nobod}^  asks  about,  and  they  go  off, 
by  and  by." 

"  Poor  Meg !  I  suppose  3'ou  do,"  said  Bess,  with  a 
heart  full  of  sudden  pity. 

"  I  'm  going  to  borrow  Biddy  Ci'owley's  Mikey,  and 
take  him  out  for  a  walk,"  IMeg  answered,  hastily. 

"  You  do  love  babies,  don't  you,  Meg?  " 

"  Yes,  'm,  they  never  pities  me."  And  with  the  words, 
Meg  was  gone.  They  heard  her  heavy  tramp  down  the 
many  stairs,  and  then  on  the  sidewalk  outside. 


94  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMiXi    CwU.a". 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


AMITY    MEG. 


TT  was  high  noon  in  Amity  Court.  The  sun  blazed 
-■-  up  and  down  its  dirty  length,  and  gleamed  back 
from  the  still  surface  of  the  sluggish  river.  Meg  walked 
slowly  up  the  scorching  pavement,  but  the  heat  sick- 
ened her.  The  throbbing  pain  came  back  to  her  thin 
temples,  and  her  eyes  grew  blind  in  the  glare.  She  sat 
down  on  a  doorstep,  and  longed  to  crawl  away  where 
no  one  could  see  her,  and  where  she  might  try  to  forget 
herself  and  her  miser}-.  She  rose  and  staggered  down 
a  deserted  cellarway.  It  was  cool  and  shady  there. 
Her  head  felt  better,  thougli  she  shivered  with  the 
damp  chill  of  the  place.  On  tlie  dusty  boards  of  the 
floor  she  lay  down.  She  had  found  the  solitude  she 
craved,  and  it  was  grateful  to  her.  Meg  was  but  an 
untaught  animal,  with  a  few  jrlimmerings  of  something 
human  and  higher.  So,  like  an  animal  wounded  or 
suffering,  she  stole  awa}"  alone  to  stolidly  endure  the 
strange  misery  she  could  not  understand.     Meg  seemed 


"  AMITT   MEG."  95 

to  haA'e  slept  thei-e  on  the  mouldy  floor  of  the  old  cel- 
lar. Thrown  down  in  a  careless,  awkward  abandon, 
the  rough  hair  falling  over  her  homely,  ^'earning  face, 
the  vacant  eyes  closed,  the  simple  unthinking  head  pil- 
lowed on  her  bony  arms,  Meg  found  herself,  hours  after- 
wai'ds,  slowly  rousing  from  a  sort  of  stupor.  She 
dragged  herself  to  her  feet,  and  looked  up  the  open 
cellarway.  The  sun  had  slid  far  down  the  afternoon 
side  of  the  sky, 

"  Biddy  Crowley  will  let  me  take  the  baby  now," 
Meg  thought.     "  It  was  too  hot  before." 

The  pain  was  almost  gone  from  Meg's  head,  but  it 
felt  light  and  dizz}'. 

"■  It  must  be  hungry  I  am,"  she  said  aloud,  as  she 
steadied  her  steps  by  the  brick  walls  of  the  house. 
"  I  '11  ask  Biddy  for  a  bit  of  bread  just  to  put  strength 
into  nie." 

Bidd}'  Crowley  was  busy,  and  baby  was  crying.  It 
wasver}"^  hot  in  her  stifled  room,  where  she  was  obliged 
to  have  a  fire  to  iron.  She  was  but  too  glad  that  baby 
should  be  taken  out,  and  ever}'^  one  knew  that  "  Amity 
Meg  "  was  a  most  trusty  nurse.  She  Avillingly  gave  her 
the  bit  of  bread  she  asked,  and  even  added  a  mouthful 
of  uieat  for  a  relish.  Meg  took  Bab}-  Crowle}-  on  one 
arm,  and  her  repast  in  the  other  hand,  and  walked  up 
the  court  to  the  street  to  "  look  at  the  horses."  She 
had  to  sit  down  on  a  step,  for  her  limbs  were  weak,  and 


96  THE    CUILDREX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

Baby  Crowley  was  a  plump  round  liitle  fellow,  of  active 
disposition,  who  kicked  and  crowed  heartily  as' soon  as 
he  was  outside  the  house.  Meg  tried  to  eat  the  bread 
and  meat,  but  she  did  not  feel  hungry.  The  first 
mouthful  sufficed,  and  the  meat  proved  anji-hing  but  a 
relish;  tlie  ver}^  smell  of  it  sickened  her.  A  little  dog 
came  sniffing  and  begging  for  it,  and  Meg  fed  him.  It 
amused  baby  much  more  than  eating  it  herself  would 
have  done,  so  Meg  was  satisfied- 

Finally  Baby  grew  tired,  or  restful  perhaps,  with  t!ie 
fresher  out-door  air,  and  the  pleasant  change  of  scene 
after  a  da^'  in  his  mother's  cramped,  hot  kitchen.  His 
round  face  dropped  on  Meg's  arm,  his  bright  ej'es  grew 
hazy,  and  the  white  lids  came  sliding  slowly  over  them. 
Baby  Crowley  was  asleej),  and  Meg  rocked  him  softly 
with  a  swaying  motion  of  her  long  arms  and  Umk  body. 

Strangers  passing  stopped  to  pity.  One  offered  a 
few  pennies,  which  Meg  took  thankfully,  and  slipped 
away  in  her  ragged  pocket.  But  it  was  pity  —  always 
pity.  Only  a  baby  could  feel  and  understand  the  one 
sweet  spot  in  poor  Meg's  heart,  and  love  her  for  it. 
Only  a  baby  never  saw  the  dirt  and  squalor,  never 
noticed  her  awkward  splay  hands  and  feet,  her  long, 
lank  limbs,  her  unkempt  hair  and  vacant  face  ;  but  did 
see  the  humble,  holy  light  that  came  trembling  up  into 
those  dull  eyes,  hopeless,  pleading  with  the  one  prayer 
"  Let  me  love  you."    Babies  always  granted  it.   Babies 


"amity  meg."  97 

alwaj's  went  freely  into  Meg's  yearning  arms.  Babies 
graciously  suffered  her  love.  If  they  never  returned  it 
adequately,  thej'  at  least  appreciated  it.  Not  the  most 
irate  screamer  in  Amity  Court  but  would  silence  his 
elocution  for  Meg's  persuasion,  and  condescend  to  smile 
into  her  asking  eyes.  Meg  was  scarcely  sixteen,  but 
she  might  have  been  thirty-five,  with  that  disheartened 
face  and  poverty-aged  body.  She  was  only  half-witted 
"  Amity  Meg\ 

Bab}'  Crowley  woke  and  began  to  dance  and  play. 
Meg  walked  up  the  street  with  him.  But  the  plump 
child  was  A'cry  heavy,  —  heavier  than  was  ever  a  baby 
before  to  Meg's  willing  arms.  She  did  not  care  to 
sit  down  again.  The  air  seemed  close  and  hot. 
Down  the  court  she  could  see  hazy  clouds  dimming  the 
sun.  There  was  a  cool  breath  from  the  river.  jNIeg 
went  through  tlie  court,  and  looked  over  the  water.  She 
crept  slowly  and  faintly  along  the  zigzag  path  that 
went  sliding  sidewise  down  the  river-bank,  and  stood 
on  the  brink.  It  was  a  muddy,  oozy  shore  ;  the  water 
dragged  sluggishly  along,  black  and  still. 

I'arther  down,  a  small  boat  was  tied  to  a  post  driven 
in  the  bank.  IMeg  determined  to  get  into  the  boat. 
There  she  could  sit  and  rock  Bab}',  and  play  in  the 
water  for  liis  amusement.  It  was  easy  work  to  draw 
the  boat  ashore,  and  Meg  stepped  in.  It  was  of  no 
consequence    that  she   wet   her  stockingiess  feet  and 


98  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

spattereil  l)or  dingy  gown.  They  Tverc  cooler  to  her 
burning  skin  for  the  water,  antl  cou'd  not  look  more 
shabby.     Little  cared  "  Amity  Meg  "  for  shabbiness. 

The  boat  rocked  pleasantly  ;  and  splashing  the  wate/ 
with  one  hand  pleased  Baby  Crowley  to  his  utter  con- 
tent. A  cool  breeze  came  stealing  over  the  river,  and 
the  gathering  clouds  obscured  the  sun.  ^eg  would 
have  liked  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  sloppy 
boat,  and  sleep  again.  But  she  could  not  leave  baby ; 
so  she  rocked  and  splashed,  and  amused  her  own  wearj"" 
heart  with  watching  the  bright  smile  come  and  go  in 
the  little  face,  the  earnest  stare,  the  growing  laugh,  all 
so  sweetly  unconscious  and  so  happ}'^  with  only  her  — 
onl}'  ''  poor  Amity  Meg  "  —  to  please  him. 

The  clouds  came  drifting  up  thicker  and  faster  over 
the  sun  and  the  sky.  The  breeze  grew  fresher  and 
stronger.  Meg  shivered.  Raw  chills  went  creeping 
down  her  back,  and  hot  flashes  like  flame  shot  up  into 
her  temples.  Her  head  throbbed  again,  and  her  eyes 
scarce  saw  the  baby  that  lay  rolling  on  her  lap. 

"  It  is  too  cold,"  she  murmured.  "  Baby  will 
sneeze." 

She  moved  to  the  bow,  and  pulled  at  the  rope  to 
draw  the  boat  nearer  sliore.  The  rope  was  but  loosely 
tied,  and  the  knot  would  bear  no  such  strain  as  this. 
It  slipped,  and  the  heavy  rope  fell  in  the  water. 

Meg  was  quick  in  danger.     She  laid  baby  down  on 


"  AMITY    MEG."  99 

the  boat's  bare  ribs,  and  jumped  out  into  the  water.  It 
was  not  deep,  but  the  slim^',  3'ieldiug  bottom  was  poor 
footing  in  which  to  stand  and  shove  the  boat  ashore. 
'Hie  craft  proved  contrary,  and  sliowed  a  decided  pref- 
erence for  going  down  stream,  though  the  still  water 
scarcely  seemed  to  have  a  current.  At  last  the  bows  were 
grounded.  Meg  lifted  Baby  in  her  arms.  Her  knees 
tottered  ;  she  caught  the  boat  with  one  hand  to  steady 
herself,  for  she  could  not  stand  alone.  Her  dizzied 
head  swam  with  the  swimming  water.  She  toolv  one 
step,  holding  the  boat-side  fast.  It  was  not  four  feet 
to  the  river's  edge,  but  she  could  not  gain  it.  The  boat 
veered  round  ;  its  bows  had  drifted  and  were  free  again. 
]\Ieg  gathered  all  her  strength,  bracing  her  feet  in  the 
mudily  river-bed,  and  threw  the  bub}'  high  upon  the 
sljore.  lie  cried,  of  course,  but  more  witli  fright  than 
hurt,  for  the  wet  bank  was  a  harmless  landing-place, 
"With  the  effort,  Meg  toppled  over  in  the  stream.  Cov- 
ered with  mud  she  scrambl^^l  up,  and  feebl}'  clutched 
the  boat's  stern  as  it  drifted  past.  She  had  untied  it, 
she  must  drag  it  back  and  tie  it,  was  her  dim  idea  of 
duty,  as  she  held  it  by  the  edge.  Dut  first  she  brushed 
aside  the  wet  and  draggled  hair  to  sec  where  baby  was. 
Dirt}',  doubtless,  but  quite  safe,  lay  Baby  Crowley, 
well  up  the  bank.  He  was  staring  now,  with  big, 
round  eyes  at  Meg  staggerinj;  to  hold  the  tugging  boat 
that  would  drift  down  the  river.     The  love-light  flickered 


100  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AillTY    COURT. 

np  in  Meg's  eyes  once  more.  Duby  saw  it,  and  smiled 
back.  Meg  tried  to  speak,  to  call  to  him  ;  but  the  voice 
would  not  come.  She  only  waved  her  hand,  nodded 
her  head,  and  smiled  —  "  Amity  Meg's  "  own  simple  but 
■  loving  smile  —  to  answer  Baby  Crowley's.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  struggling  boat  to  drag  it  shoreward. 
But  the  treacherous  mud  gave  way  beneath  her.  She 
stumbled.  The  headstrong  boat  wrested  itself  from 
her  hands,  and  went  dancing  mockingly  awa^-.  Meg 
looked  after  it  Avith  pained  wonder  as  it  went.  Then 
she  tui'ned  to  baby.  Again  the  mute  smile  passed 
between  these  two  dumb  creatures, — their  smile  the 
one  sure,  though  faint,  token  of  their  humanity. 
Then  the  dizz^'ing  water  eddied  through  her  blinded 
eyes ;  the  uncertain  footing  grew  more  doubtful ; 
the  long  arms  stretched  once  more  towards  baby,  as 
the  shaking  knees  bent,  and  "  Amity  Meg  "  sank  in 
the  shallow  slimy  river,  and  rose  no  more. 

An  hour  later,  distracted  Biddy  Crowle}'  found  her 
baby  crawling  in  the  mud  by  the  river-side.  Three 
days  after,  Amity  Meg's  mud-smeared  face  was  recog- 
nized in  the  dead-house.  Its  vacant  look  quite  gone, 
it  wore  only  the  same  child-like  smile  that  gleamed 
across  it  when  she  turned  it  last  on  Ba])y  Crowley 
by  the  river,  and  stretched  her  arms  to  take  him. 


WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    JEIIMT.  101 


CHAPTER    IX. 

WHAT    HAPPENED  TO   JEMMT. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  misfortunes  of  Jem- 
m3''s  first  day,  he  was  firm  iii  his  Jctermiuation 
to  go  again  with  Nora,  when  next  she  went  to  sell 
papers.  Nora  had  so  vividly  depicted  to  hi:n  tlie  ter- 
rible results  of  being  picked  up  by  the  po'.ico,  or  led 
away  b}'  "monkey-men,"  as  Jemm}'"  calL'd  the  organ- 
grinders,  that  he  was  greatly  impressed,  and  gave  tokens 
of  a  wliolesome  fear  of  separation  from  lier,  an  1  the 
strong  desire  to  keep  always  within  range  of  her  pro- 
tection. The  novel  sights  of  city  streets  were  losing 
their  crazing  influence  upon  himj  and  he  found  it  pos- 
sible, amid  their  excitement,  to  exercise  some  thought 
of  what  became  of  himself.  The  conviction  of  the 
necessity  for  this  care  and  consideration,  —  which  were 
faculties  he  had  never  before  had  occasion  to  use,  — 
since  Nora  could  not  exercise  tliem  for  him,  was  the 
successful  incentive  to  this  great  exertion,  and  produced 
a  very  gratifying  change  in  his  behavior.     He  became 


102  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMHY    COURT.     . 

SO  faitliful  a  follower  of  Nora's  movements,  that  she 
gradiially  lost  the  worrjiug  anxiety  with  which  she  had 
been  always  tortured  when  he  was  with  her  ;  and  at  the 
end  of  a  week  she  could  even  enjoy  his  company  as 
heartily  as  she  used  in  quiet  old  Campfields,  when  they 
played  together  by  the  sleepy  village  street.  Mean- 
while tlioughtful  little  Nora  was  already  learning  the 
way  about  the  city.  She  had  never  yet  gone  alone 
from  Amity  Court  to  the  newspaper  offices,  but  she  ofte.i 
went  out  to  meet  Ned  as  he  returned  with  his  load  of 
papers.  It  saved  her  a  long  walk,  if  he  got  the  papers 
and  brought  tiiem  up  the  city  for  her.  In  the  upper 
streets  of  New  York  Nora  could  go  about  without  fear 
of  being  lost ;  for  Tom  had  instructed  her,  if  perplexed, 
to  ask  a  policeman  for  Amity  Court.  Though  in  great 
awe  of  policemen,  Nora  had  once  had  resort  to  this 
plan,  and  found  herself  so  near  home,  that  had  she  used 
her  own  eyes  wisely,  and  been  familiar  with  the  prin- 
cipal buildings  near,  she  could  not  have  failed  to  know 
where  it  was  herself. 

There  was  one  favorite  field  of  business  with  Nora. 
It  consisted  of  two  or  three  long  quiet  streets,  with 
stately  house?  on  either  side,  freshly-washed  sidewalks, 
and  clean,  well-swept,  and  sprinkled  middles,  —  an 
occasional  tree  shading  a  patch  of  the  stones  or  a  few 
windows  of  a  neighboring  house.  Here,  between  eight 
and  nine  in  the  morning,  was  a  constant  stream  of  fine- 


"WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    JEMMT.  103 

looking,  well-dressed  men  passing  out  to  the  avenue  on 
their  way  down  town.  Almost  every  one  of  tliera  would 
Iju}'  a  paper,  if  as!ced.  It  was  just  what  they  wanted  to 
read  in  the  coach  or  car.  Nora  lilced  the  quiet  of  these 
streets.  She  had  never  learned  to  call  her  papers,  like 
the  newsboys,  and  this  peculiarit}'  special!}'  fitted  her 
for  such  localities.  Residents  of  these  streets  liked  to 
have  their  papers  brought  by  a  quiet-mannered,  unob- 
trusive little  gi  1.  Nora  kept  near  th3  avenue  end  of 
the  street ;  and  as,  one  b}^  one,  she  saw  them  coming, 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  she  hastened  up  with  her 
papers  Sometimes  they  came  so  fast  she  could  not 
meet  them  all  and  would  send  Jemmy  trotting  across 
with  a  paper  in  his  hand  to  a  regular  customer  while 
she  was  busy  on  the  o'her  sidewalk.  Jemmy  liked  that, 
and  always  came  back  proud  as  a  king,  with  the  pen- 
nies clutched  fa'^t  in  his  little  fist  Sometimes  nurses 
came  out  with  the  little  children  of  these  comfortable- 
seeming  gentlemen,  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
the  sunny  sidewalks,  leading  by  the  hand  or  pushing  in 
baby-carriages  the  little  ones.  Then  Jemmy  looked 
with  longing  eyes.  lie  did  so  want  to  play  with  these 
little  bo3-s  and  girls  not  so  big  as  he  !  But  the. nurses 
always  acted  as  non-conductors  an  1  repelled  his  sh;^ 
advances  towards  a  nearer  view  of  the  often  too  white 
little  faces  in  their  diinty  laces,  snowy  robes,  and  taste- 
ful   costumes.     If  the  pampered  babies  looked    long- 


104  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

ingl\'  towards  the  snnburiiGd  plumpness  of  Jemmy 
Craig, their  carriages  were  straightway  faced  about  upon 
a  totally  different  view,  and  they  saw  only  pavements, 
flagging,  stone  walls,  and  cast-iron  fences.  Jemmy 
made  no  progress  towards  acquaintance  with  any  of 
them. 

It  was  a  sultry  afternoon.  Ned  had  just  brought  up 
the  evening  edition.  Nora  stood  on  tlie  curbstone  of 
the  great  avenue  selling  her  papers  busily  Jemmy 
wandered  up  and  down,  keeping  her  always  in  sight, 
■watching  the  passing  crowds,  in  which  spectacle,  how- 
ever, he  no  longer  found  the  fascination  it  had  at  first 
presented.  An  incessant  panorama  inevitably  palls  on 
the  taste,  —  even  the  panorauia  of  city  life,  on  the  eager- 
ness of  a  country  child.  Jemmy  had  found  a  rather 
dirty  piece  of  wi'apping-paper  blowing  about,  and  was 
tr^'ing  to  fold  it  up  to  make  a  soldier's  cap,  as  Ned  had 
taught  him.  Suddenly  a  chirping  little  voice  said, 
close  by  his  side,  — 

"  I  know  you." 

Jemmy  looked  up  in  surprise.  At  his  elbow  stood 
one  of  the  rich  children  from  the  quiet  street  where 
Nora  sold  papers  in  the  morning.  She  was  much 
sinallcr  than  Jemmy,  but  loolced  older.  Slie  had  curl- 
ing black  hair  that  was  now  sadly  degene:  ated  from  its 
usual  smooth  neatness.  Her  sharp  gray-blue  eyes  had 
a  wise  old  look.     And  her  dainty  white  dress,  with  blue 


WHAT    HAPPKNED    TO    JEMMY.  105 

ribbons  and  wonderful  blue  boots,  such  as  Jemmy  had 
never  seen  before,  were  simply  miraculous,  and  stamped 
her  as  undoubtedly  of  curious  and  fairy  origin.  But 
Jemmj-  only  answered  coolly,  — 

'•  Yes,  I  know  you." 

"What  are  you  making?"  asked  Miss  Blue-boots, 
with  condescending  interest. 

"  Soldier-cap,"  was  the  preoccupied  reply. 

"  Wish  I  had  some  p;iper  to  make  one,  too." 

"Come  and  see  my  cubby-house,"  suddenly  Jemmy 
said,  throwing  down  the  dirty  paper-cap  and  springing 
to  his  feet. 

The  little  blue  boots  followed  him  to  the  next  comer, 
where  he  crept  under  a  half  dozen  steps,  and  peeped 
out  at  her  from  enshrouding  darkness  with  a  face  beam- 
ing with  delight. 

"  Come  in  here  !  Plenty  of  room,"  said  he,  hospit- 
ably', crowding  himself  up  closely  against  the  farther 
side. 

Little  Blue-boots  looked  at  her  white  dress,  and  s*ood 
irresolute.  Then  she  lifted  her  dress  gingerly,  and 
saying,  — 

"  It  won't  show  if  I  do  dirty  my  undcr-skirt,"  she 
stepped  in  and  sat  down  by  Jomm}-. 

Jemm3''s  face  shone  all  over  for  a  moment,  but  his 
tongue  was  tied  with  pleasure.  Tlien  he  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  could  not  see  Nora,  nor  could  she 


lOG  TnE    CHILDREX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

see  him.     He  stood  up,  bent  double  under  the  stairs, 
and  began  stepping  over  the  blue  boots  to  get  out. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked,  angrily,  at  this 
seeming  faithlessness  of  sudden  desertion. 

"  I  must  tell  Nora  ;  wait,  and  I'll  come  right  back." 

"  Jf  30U  don't,  3'ou  won't  find  me  hare,"  said  Blue- 
boots,  dccidedl}'.  "I  can't  sta}'-  but  a  few  minutes, 
anyway." 

Jeram}'  found  Nora,  and  told  her  he  was  going  to 
play  under  (he  s'.eps,  and  she  must  remember  and  not 
go  awav  and  leave  him.  Nora  promised,  with  a  smile  ; 
it  was  so  pleasant  for  her  that  he  thought  to  come  and 
tell  her,  she  wanted  to  kiss  him  for  it,  but  refrained  lest 
he  should  prove  too  much  occupied  otherwise,  and  ob- 
ject. Jemmy  did  not  stop  to  mention  little  Miss  Blue- 
boots  under  the  steps ,  but  harried  back  to  find  her  calmly 
digging  a  hole  in  the  dirt  with  a  chip,  and  seemingly 
indifferent  as  to  whether  he  ever  appeared  again  or  not. 

"Where's  3'our  mother?"  asked  Jemmy. 

"  Gone  out  in  the  carriage  with  Grandma  and 
Auntie." 

"  Why  doesn't  she  ever  let  me  s;xjak  to  3'OU  ia  the 
morning  ?  " 

"She?  You  never  saw  my  mamma  That's  onl}' 
the  nurse ! " 

"  O ! "  replied  Jemmy,  with  a  very  indistinct  idea 
of  what  a  nurse  was.     "  Is  she  cross?" 


WHAT   HAPPENED    TO    JEMMY.  107 

"  Eather.  Everybody  is,  you  know,  except  Auntie, 
I  never  heard  lier  cross,  but  I  suppose  she  is  some- 
times." 

"  Nora  is  n't  ever  cross,  nor  Bess ;  sometimes  Tom 
is,  and  Ned.  Harry  never  is,"  was  Jemmy's  audible 
inventor}'  of  his  acquaintance,  in  rep'j'. 

"Who  are  they?  Have  you  got  so  many  brothers 
and  sisters  ?  " 

"No — Yes — some  of  them,"  answered  Jemmy, 
rather  puzzled  to  sort  them  out. 

"  You  must  liave  nice  times  p'aying !  Does  j'our 
mamma  let  you  all  go  in  the  street  to  play  alone?" 

"  Our  mamma  —  Nora's  and  mj'  mamma  got  runded 
all  over  in  the  street ;  and  the  rest  have  n't  got  any  — 
never  had  any." 

Little  Blue-boots  laughed  rather  doubtfully  ;  but  on 
second  thought,  Jemmy's  earnestness  seemed  convin- 
cing, for  she  replied, — 

"  I  shou'd  tliink  it  would  be  grand  fun.  Where  do 
you  live  ?  " 

"  Amity  Court,"  said  Jemmy,  with  parrot-like  prompt- 
ness, 'i  hat  answer  had  been  carefully  impressed  on  his 
mind. 

"  I  don't  know  where  that  is  " 

"  Nor  I  cither,"  was  the  grave  coincidence. 

'1  he  little  girl  laughed  again  She  had  not  a  very 
pleasant  laugh,  but  Jemm}'  did  not  much  mind  that,  it 


103  THE    Cnil.DREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

was  so  nice  to  see  those  blue  l^oots,  "with  their  toes 
standing  straight  up  before  his  eyes !  He  reached  out 
one  chubb}''  brown  hand  to  touch  them. 

"  Don't !  You  '11  spot  them.  I  have  to  be  so  careful ; 
everj'  drop  of  water  spots  'era,"  explained  the  owner,  in 
half-apology  for  her  ill-nature. 

And  Jemmy  stared  at  the  little  fair^'  lad^'  in  hopeless 
wonder, 

"  Let 's  play  something,"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  let's,"  returned  Jemmy,  amiably. 

"  I  'm  a  rich  lady  and  live  here  ;  and  you  are  my  ser- 
vant. You  must  clean  up  here  for  me,  it  is  very  dirty. 
Get  some  more  paper,  and  carpet  the  ground  for  me  to 
sit  down." 

Jemmy  accepted  his  condition  of  servitude  with  ex- 
treme docility,  and  began  at  once  to  hoe  out  the  comers 
with  a  chip.  Little  Blue-boots  edged  round  out  of  the 
way  of  his  house-cleaning  with  gracious  condescension, 
and  gave  orders  with  great  freetlom  ;  but  not  always  with 
gracious  consideration  or  sweetness.  It  was  delightful 
to  Jomray  to  have  some  one  of  his  own  age  to  play  with, 
and  especially  some  one  in  a  white  dress  and  blue  boots, 
and  it  did  n't  so  much  matter  if  she  was  rather  cross 
and  exacting. 

"When  he  had  hoed  out  all  the  coruers  wiih  the  chip, 
he  proceeded  to  scrape  the  refuse  int  >  the  street. 

"  Here 's  some  paper."  And  he  drew  out  a  small  and 
very  dirty  piece  from  his  gathered  rubbish. 


WHAT   HAPPENED   TO   JEMMT.  109 

"  'T  is  n't  big  enough,"  decided  Blue-boots.  Indeed, 
it  was  but  a  few  inches  and  very  ding}'. 

But  Jemmy  discovered  a  faint  semblance  of  a  picture 
on  it,  and  so  tucked  it  in  his  little  pocket  for  investi- 
gation at  some  futSre  moment  of  greater  leisure. 

''What  are  j'ou  going  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Blue- 
boots. 

"  Look  at  it,  by  and  by.  There  's  a  picture.  I  can 
rub  the  dirt  off."  And  Jemmy  diligently  scooped  up 
the  rubbish  in  both  hands,  and  went  and  threw  it  in 
the  gutter. 

"  Your  hands  are  dirtier  than  ever,"  said  Blue-boots, 
with  a  glance  of  disgust,  as  he  returned. 

'•  I  'm  going  to  wash  \ra,"  said  Jcram}- ;  and  he  dis- 
appeared. 

There  was  a  pump  not  out  of  sight  of  Tsora,  in  a 
tiny  park,  and  thither  Jemmy  ran  and  scrubbed  his  fat, 
b:  own  hands  with  great  good-will  and  little  science,  for 
they  were  not  much  cleaner  after  all. 

"  Nora.  I  want  a  paper,"  he  said,  in  his  most  aggressive 
tone,  because  he  knew  he  was  asking  a  great  thing,  and 
expected  objection 

'•  A  pa[)er  !  What  for  ?  "  asked  Nora,  kindlj'.  Jemmy 
was  behaving  so  well,  she  wished  she  could  give  him 
cue. 

"  Just  to  spread,  you  know,"  spreading  out  his  little 
fists. 


110  TnE    CHILDREN'   OF    AMITY    COURT. 

Nora  laughed.  "  Here  's  an  old  one  the  others  came 
wrapped  in  ;  that  will  do,  won't  it?'* 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Jemm}',  in  a  flutter  of  suppressed 
delight. 

Begging  Miss  Blue-boots  to  step  out  for  a  moment, 
he  proceeded  to  spread  the  paper  nicel3^  It  was  just 
large  enough  to  cover  the  ground  under  the  steps,  and 
it  made  such  a  clean,  nice  little  house. 

"  Now  3'ou  can  come  in,"  he  cried,  creeping  to  the 
farther  side. 

But  while  Jemray  was  on  his  hands  and  knees,  with 
his  head  in  the  hole  and  his  little  heels  onl}''  visible  out- 
side, Officer  Sta'.it,  pacing  slowly  by,  was  attracted  by 
the  singular  and  very  inappropriate  apparition  of  little 
Blue-boots,  bonnctlcss  and  alone,  standing  on  the 
jostled  sidewalk  of  the  great  avenue.  When  Jemmy 
turned  to  call  her,  he  saw,  through  the  opening  that 
formed  their  door,  a  cringe  of  dread  and  terror  pass 
over  little  Blue-boots'  fiice  and  form,  and  he  saw,  too,  a 
great  hand  holding  her  shoulder. 

"  Where  did  3-ou  come  from,  little  girl?"  asked  the 
officer,  kindly. 

The  little  runaway  wriggled  out  of  his  grasp,  and 
turned  to  loo!c  sharply  into  his  face  before  answering. 
But  she  saw  there  so  much  grave  authority  that  she 
only  said,  sulkily,  — 

"  Home." 


WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    JEMMT.  Ill 

"  "Why  did  n't  you  put  on  3"our  hat,  to  keep  the  sun 
ofr?" 

"  Did  n't  want  to.  'T  was  shady  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  I  'in  going  right  back  there  in  a  minute." 

"  Come,  now,  and  I  '11  go  with  j-ou.  Some  one  may 
be  frightened  and  think  you  ai-e  lost." 

"  I  ain't  ready  to  go  now."  And  Blue-boots  stepped 
coolly  into  JemmA-'s  cubby-house,  and  sat  down  on  the 
rustling  newspapers. 

Officer  Staut  looked  puzzled.  He  had  seen  the  child 
on  the  avenue  an  hour  ago,  when  a  man  was  asking 
the  way  of  him.  He  meant  to  have  taken  care  of  her 
then,  but  when  he  turned  to  find  her  she  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  more  decidedl}- ;  "  j'ou  have  been 
here  a  long  while,  and  it  is  time  you  went  home.  "Will 
30U  come  with  me,  or  shall  I  pick  you  up  and  carry  you  ?" 

"You'd  better  go,"  advised  Jemmy.  "lie  almost 
carried  me  off,  once." 

Thus  instructed,  little  Blue-boots  crept  out  and  Jem^ 
my  crawled  after. 

♦'  Hulloa ! "  laughed  Officer  Staut.  "  So  you  are  here 
too." 

Jemmy  shook  in  his  slioes,  but  stood  very  straight 
and  brave  —  and  silent. 

"  Now  where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  the  officer,  holding 
the  little  girl's  arm  fii'mly  in  his  strong  grasp. 


112  TUE    CHILDREN    OF   AMITY   COURT. 

"Down  there,"  pointing.  ''I'd  rather  go  alone," 
she  said,  struggling  to  be  free. 

"  You  might  not  find  it  alone.  What 's  the  street 
and  number?" 

"  /don't  know,*'  she  answered,  lifting  a  little  face  of 
disgusted  indignation  at  the  expectation  of  her  being 
acquainted  with  such  plebeian  information. 

'•  O,  you  don't?  Then  unless  you  know  the  way  to 
go  there,  I  shall  have  to  take  you  to  the  police-station. 
What 's  your  name  ?  "  was  his  sudden  question,  as  a  last 
resort. 

But  Blue-boots  had  twisted  the  end  of  her  sash  round 
into  her  mouth,  and  was  sulkily  silent. 

Jemmy  was  horror-struck  at  the  mention  of  the  po- 
lice-station, and  rushed  with  a  sudden  scream  towards 
Nora. 

"  Don't  let  him !   Don't  let  him  !    O,  Nora,  don't ! " 

"  What  is  it.  Jemmy?"  anxiously  inquired  Nora, 
reaching  an  ai-m  to  receive  him,  while  she  handed  a  pur- 
chased paper  to  a  passer  with  the  other  hand. 

"He's  going  to  —  the  great  man — carry  her  off. 
Don't  let  him !  "  And  he  pointed  amid  a  tempest  of 
sobs  to  where  little  Blue-boots  still  struggled  fitfully  and 
angrily  with  the  policeman. 

Officer  Staut  stood  regarding  Nora.  He  had  often 
noticed  her,  as  he  paced  his  beat.  He  had  always  a 
kindly  turn  towards  children.     He  knew  that  Jemmy 


WHAT    HAPPENED   TO    JEMMY.  113 

came  and  went  willi  her,  no  more  barricading  tlie  side- 
walk with  a  tether.  He  hail  seen  her  motherly  care  of 
him,  and  earnest  attention  to  her  rather  unusnal  busi- 
ness, and  placed  her  high  in  his  approbation  as  an  un- 
commonly reliable  child  He  now  advanced  towards 
her,  leading  the  little  girl.  Jemmy  retreated  behind 
Nora,  clinging  to  her  dress,  and  crying  "  Don't, 
don't ! "  in  agonized  tones, 

"Do  3'ou  know  anything  about  this  little  girl?" 
asked  the  officer  of  Nora. 

'•  No,  sir,"  answered  Nora,  trembling  a  little  herself, 
she  did  not  know  wh}'. 

'•  I  shall  have  to  take  her  to  the  station  if  I  can't  find 
out  where  she  lives.  Can't  you  tell  me  the  street  and 
number?"  he  added,  more  persuasively,  to  the  child. 

"■  I  know,"  cried  Jemmy,  explosively,  from  under 
Nora's  elbow. 

OflUcer  Staut  looked  doubtful. 

"  Where  is  it?"  asked  Nora. 

"  Down,  where  3'ou  went  this  morning." 

"  Where  the  penny  was  lost?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  joyfully,  with  brightened  face. 

"  That  was  C Street,"  said  Nora. 

"  Suppose  3'ou  let  me  take  this  little  man  along  with 
me,"  said  Officer  Staut.  "  I  '11  bring  him  back  again, 
all  safe,  when  we  have  found  the  house." 

But  Jemmy  objected.     It  was  only  after  long  coax- 


114  THE    CIIII.PRKV    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

iiig  fi  om  Nora,  and  repeated  protestation  fi  om  OfHcer 
Staut  that  nothing  should  harm  him,  and  he  should  he 
brought  safely  back  to  Nora,  that  he  was  at  last  per- 
suaded to  go 

Little  Biue-boots,  who  had  never  ventured  out  with- 
out an  attendant,  or  been  taught  any  self-reliance,  had 
no  idea  of  locality,  and  scarcely  knew  the  familiar 
street  from  an}'  other  when  they  entered  it.  But 
Jemm3%  accustomed,  though  so  lately,  to  look  about  him 
with  observant  ej'es,  recognized  the  place  at  once. 

He  could  have  found  the  very  crack  in  the  bricks 
where  the  truant  penny  was  lost,  and  easily  pointed 
out  the  house  where  he  had  seen  little  Blue-boots  with 
the  nurse  and  a  wee  baby  come  down  the  steps  for  a 
walk  that  very  morning.  He  knew  the  place  by  the 
flowering- bush  in  the  narrow  grass  plat,  and  the  little 
dogs'  heads  grinning  on  the  posts  of  the  cast-iron 
railings. 

"  Waters,"  said  Officer  Staut,  as  they  stood  on  the 
steps  after  he  had  rung  the  bell. 

"That's  my  pa's  name,"  snapped  little  Blue-boots. 
It  was  the  first  word  she  had  spoken. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  so  before?  " 

But  the  door  was  opened  and  the  runaway  darted  in, 
and  vanished  in  the  dusk  of  the  richlj'-furnished  hall. 

Her  disappearance  made  it  a  little  awkward  for 
Officer  Staut  about  explaining  his  errand  to  the  liveried 


WHAT    HAPPENED   TO    .TKMMY.  115 

footman,  who  stood  expectant  with  well-bred  surprise 
tempered  by  respect  for  his  badge. 

Before  his  story  was  stated,  even  in  his  succinct 
manner,  a  mellifluous  voice  called  over  the  dim  stair- 
way, — 

'^  Tell  the  man  to  come  in,  Thompson.  We  must 
see  him." 

The  footman  immediately  extended  a  pressing  invita- 
tion to  enter,  and  Officer  Staut  stepped  into  the  hall  and 
sat  down,  with  little  Jemmy  keeping  remarkably  fast 
hold  of  one  of  his  big  fingers  and  staring  very  hard  out 
of  his  round  eyes.  Such  soft  carpets,  such  wide  high 
stairs,  such  smootli  white  tables.  Jemmy  never  saw 
before  !  There  was  a  gorgeoiisness —  increased,  in  the 
vague  dusk  of  the  house,  by  his  own  alert  imagination  — 
that  exceeded  the  wildest  tales  Nora  had  ever  read  or 
told  to  him  of  fairy-land  or  heaven.  It  made  him  hold 
his  breath  and  Officer  Staut's  finger  with  corresponding 
intensity' ;  and  his  wondering  admiration  of  little  Blue- 
])oots,  who  lived  among  such  surroundings,  grew  big  to 
puinfuhiess.  But  when  three  magnificent  ladies,  in 
rustling  sweeping  dresses,  with  unnaturally  beautiful 
faces,  soft  voices,  and  gracious  manner,  came  floating 
down  lliu  broad  stairs,  one  of  them  leading  little  Blue- 
boots  and  looking  A'ery  much  displeased  at  her.  Jemmy's 
eyes  could  be  no  bigger  or  rounder;  his  stout  I'ttle 
heart  forgot  all  about  beating,  and  his  lungs  did  no\ 
feel  the  want  of  air  lur  some  minutes. 


116  THE   CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 


CHAPTER    X. 


JEMMY  S    LUCK. 


"  ri  lELL  US  how  you  found  our  darling  little  Bella," 

-L  said  tlie  foremost  and  oldest  of  the  three  ladies, 
with  a  smile  so  sweet  that  Jemmy  thought  she  must 
be  an  angel,  not  having  learned  that  too  much  sweet- 
ness is  as  bad  as  too  little.  "  We  had  onlj^  just  returned 
from  driving,  and  were  quite  distracted  at  finding  she 
had  run  away." 

Officer  Staut  briefly  stated  that  he  had  found  her 
playing  on  the  avenue  with  this  little  boy,  whereat 
Jemmy  put  a  finger  in  his  mouth,  and  looked  bashful 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

•' Bella,  how  could  you?"  exclaimed  Bella's  mother, 
giving  her  a  little  shake  by  the  arm,  an.l  looking,  if 
possible,  more  displeased  than  before. 

Onicer  Staut  proceeded  .to  state  that  it  was  by 
Jemm3^'s  aid  that  he  had  been  able  to  bring  her  home, 
as  only  he  could  tell  where  she  lived. 

"He's  a  nice  little  boy,"  said  softly  the  third  lady. 


jemmy's  luck.  117 

who  was  dressed  all  in  black,  and  had  a  very  lovely 
face,  witli  timid,  gentle  eyes.  And  Bella's  auntie  came 
around  to  Jemmy's  side  and  asked  his  name. 

"  Jemm^'  Craig,"  he  said,  with  bated  breath. 

"  Some  low  creature  !  "  said  Mrs.  "Waters,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head,  —  a  head  heavy  with  the  most  elaborate  of 
coiffures,  composed  of  innumerable  rolls,  braids,  puffs, 
and  curls  of  richlj'-tinted  brown  hair. 

"  lie  was  a  good  boy  to  show  the  way  home  for 
Bella,"  said  Mrs.  Meredith,  with  gracious  condescen- 
sion. ''You'd  better  give  him  something,  Sophy. 
,  One  does  n't  like  to  be  in  debt  to  such  people." 

Jemmy's  eyes  sparkled  for  a  moment.  He  thought 
nothing  less  delightful  than  such  candy  as  he  had  seen 
in  show-windows  could  be  the  gift  of  these  grand 
ladies  in  tliis  elegant  house. 

Mrs.  Waters  was  busy  eliciting  further  particulars 
from  Officer  Staut  and  Bella. 

The  pretty  auntie  had  taken  a  chair,  and  brought 
Jemmy  to  her  side. 

"  Where  do  you  live?  "  was  her  first  question. 

"  Amity  Court,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  Avhere  ihat  is,"  she  said. 
'■'  Do  your  father  and  mother  live  there?" 

"  No." 

"  Whom  do  you  live  with  ?  " 

"  Tom  Canton,  and  Bess  and  Ned  and  Harry.  Nora 
lives  there  too." 


118  THE    CHILDREN    OK    AMITY   COURT. 

"  Arc  these  j'our  l)rothers  and  sisters?  " 

"  Only  Nora." 

'•And  do  they  —  these  Cantons  —  live  with  theii 
father  and  mother  ?  " 

'•  No  ;  they  did  n't  have  any." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  haA'e  n't  an}',  either?" 

"  Not  just  now.  The}'  packed  up  m}^  father  in  a 
great  long  box.  and  mother  got  rnnded  hall  over  in  the 
street.     Don't  know  lolien  they  '11  come  back." 

"  But  who  takes  care  of  all  these  children?  " 

"  Nobody." 

" But  where  do  you  get  food  and  clothes? " 

"  O,  we  earn  that,  selling  papers,  —  Nora  does,  and 
I  help." 

Mrs.  Donaldson  looked  tenderly  at  the  brave,  sturdy 
little  fellow  who  had  answered  all  her  questions  so 
readily,  smoothed  his  rough  brown  hair  wi  h  one  of  her 
jewelled  white  hands,  and  sighed  softl}'.  She  was 
wishing  that  she  had  not  been  left  quite  childless  in 
her  widowhood,  and  thinking,  while  so  many  children 
were  motherless,  why  need  she  be  always  childless? 
Could  she  not  take  some  of  these  little  ones  who  needed 
her  as  much  as  she  felt  she  needed  them ;  and  thus  try, 
in  her  small  range,  to  right  some  of  the  world's  cruel 
wrong?  But  she  could  not  say  it.  There  were  ham- 
pering circumstances  that  hemmed  in  the  rich  widow, 
free   and  untrammelled   as   she    seemed,  crushed   her 


jemmy's  luck.  119 

truer,  better  longings,  and  forced  her  into  a  life  she 
would  not  herself  have  chosen.  So  she  only  stroked 
Jemmy  Craig's  rough  hair,  and  sigbed. 

"Are  you  the  auntie?"  ventured  Jemmy. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Donaldson,  with  a  smile- 
'•Why?" 

''  She  told  me  you  were  n't  ever  cross,  like  the  rest." 

A  funny  surprise  passed  over  Mrs.  Donaldson's 
handsome  face,  and  she  could  scarcely  avoid  a  little 
laugh. 

"  And  you  have  alwaj'S  plenty  to  eat,  —  these  boys 
and  girls  you  tell  me  of?  "  she  resumed,  with  a  judi- 
cious change  of  subject. 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  Jemmy,  absently.  He  was  staring 
at  a  deer's  head  of  remarkabl}^  life-like  appearance 
on  the  wall.  Its  bright  eyes,  open  mouth,  and  lolling 
tongue  fascinated  him. 

"And  are  they  all  as  nice  children  as  you?"  she 
pursued. 

"Ye-es  —  all  but  Harry.  He  don't  ever  get  out 
of  bed.     Don 't  know  what  ails  him." 

"  Does  n't  he?    Is  he  a  nice,  pleasant,  pretty  boj'?  " 

"Ye-es,  he's  nice,  like  you,  —  clean  and  i^retty." 

Mrs.  Donaldson  had  to  laugh  out  at  this  sally,  and 
Mrs.  Meredith  turned  quickly  at  the  unusual  sound. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  He  says  I  am  clean  and   pretty,"    repeated  she, 


120  ■       THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

laughing  again.  It  was  a  very  pleasant,  low,  rippling 
laugh,  and  Jemmy  liked  it ;  but  a  dim  idea  of  absurdity 
in  the  statement,  as  she  gave  it,  made  him  exclaim,  — 

"  No !     I  said  Harry  was." 

"  Come  !  "  said  Officer  Staut,  "  your  sister  will  think 
I  am  not  going  to  bring  you  back."  And  ofTering  on^ 
of  his  big  fingers  again,  he  bowed  respectfully,  and 
before  Jemmy  had  time  for  one  thorough  farewell  look, 
he  was  in  the  street.  The  great  door  of  the  wonderful 
house  was  closed,  and  all  its  beauty  and  marvels  were 
vanished  forever  from  his  eager  eyes.  It  was  small 
consolation  to  hold  in  his  hand  a  bit  of  green  paper 
that  Ofiieer  Staut  said  was  a  "  quarter,"  and  which 
Jemmy  dimly  remembered,  in  the  last  dazed  moment, 
little  Blue-boots'  mamma  had  given  him,  with  the  same 
displeased  look  with  which  she  regarded  Bella. 

It  was  all  a  fairy-like  dream  to  Jemmy,  from  the  mo- 
ment of  his  entering  to  his  leaving  the  grand  home  of 
little  Bella.  The  strange  sights,  the  rich  furnishings, 
the  beautiful  ladies,  all  were  painted  indelibly  in  the 
pages  of  his  young  memory.  Wondering  dumbly, 
he  trotted  along,  holding  Officer  Staut's  finger,  till  he 
reached  the  avenue,  and  found  Nora  again. 

It  was  shady  on  the  avenue,  when  Jemm}''  returned 
to  Nora.  He  sat  down  on  the  curbstone,  close  b}''  a 
lamp-post,  and  meditated  for  a  long  time  on  the  strange 
events   of  the  afternoon.       There  were   some   straws 


jemmy's  lucs.  121 

from  a  passing  wagon  of  goods  blown  against  the  curb. 
Jemmy  began  to  play  with  them.  Nora  brought  him 
half  the  doughnut  she  was  eating  ;  the  rind  of  a  banana 
formed  quite  an  accession  to  his  limited  stock  of  toys. 
He  was  growing  skilful  in  eliciting  much  amusement 
from  small  means.  It  occurred  to  his  ingenious  mind 
to  make  a  house  like  Delia's.  The  straws  were  placed 
as  boundary  lines,  and  a  strip  of  banana  rind  formed 
the  stairs ;  a  chip  represented  the  white-topped,  shin- 
ing table ;  a  sprig  of  weed  stuck  into  a  crack  was  the 
deer's  head.  Then  bits  of  the  banana  rind  would  do 
for  the  chairs  and  sofa  that  stood  in  the  spacious  hall. 
It  was  quite  elaborately  laid  out,  and  Jemmy  was  lost 
in  study  over  the  plan,  when  an  unthinking  foot  was 
coming  down  in  the  midst  of  it.  Jemmy  almost  for- 
got that  a  man  was  probably  intimatel}^  connected  with 
that  foot.  lie  saw  only  the  imminent  destruction  of  his 
elaborate  ground-plan  of  Bella's  grand  hall.  lie  caught 
the  foot,  just  above  the  ancle,  in  both  arms,  and  guided 
it  outside  his  limited  territory.  Of  course  he  almost 
tripped  up  a  certain  well-dressed  gentleman  by  this 
manoeuvre,  but  he  never  raised  his  head.  Too  intent 
upon  his  work  to  notice  anj-thing  not  therewith  con- 
nected, when  once  the  threatening  foot  was  removed, 
he  went  quietly  on  arranging  and  contemplating  the 
plan. 

Mr.  Salsb}'  regained  his  equilibrium  as  well  as  he 


122  THE    CUILDUICN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

could,  and  stood  regarding  the  ruddy,  busy,  little 
fellow  with  an  amused  smile  in  his  pleasant  eyes  and 
hiding  in  his  brown  beard. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

Jemmy,  never  dreaming  that  any  one  could  be  accost- 
ing him,  pursued  his  occupation  without  vouchsafing 
any  reply.  The  grave,  earnest  air  and  abstracted  at- 
tention only  amused  Mr.  Salsby  still  more,  and,  stand- 
ing by  the  lamp-post,  he  watched  the  child's  play  for 
some  minutes. 

Suddenly  Jemmy  observed  the  two  feet  emulating 
the  black  post  itself  in  stationary  repose,  and  glanced 
hastily  along  up  to  the  face.  He  could  not  remember 
where  he  had  seen  it  before,  though  he  had  a  dim  idea 
that  it  was  familial*. 

"  What  arc  3'ou  making  ? "  asked  the  gentleman 
again. 

"  A  house,"  said  Jemmy,  looking  down  at  it. 

Mr.  Salsby's  imagination  was  hardlj'  equal  to  seeing 
the  resemblance.  He  regarded  Jemmy  as  the  chief 
curiosity.  But  as  he  still  remained,  instead  of  going 
away,  as  the  child  natural I3''  expected  of  him,  Jemmy 
proceeded  to  an  explanation,  — 

'''Ere's  the  front  door  That's  the  stairs,  and 
that 's  the  sofa.  'Ere  's  the  white  table,  with  a  smooth, 
shining  top ;  and  these  are  chairs.  That  *s  the  w.^y 
it  is  at  Bella's." 


jemmy's  luck.  123 

"  At  Bella's  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Salsby. 

"  Her  name  's  Bella  "Waters,  and  she  lives  in  a  great 
'andsome  'ouse.     I  've  been  there." 

*'  So  you  go  to  see  Bella  Waters  ?  "  said  the  gen- 
tleman, a  funny  twinkle  coming  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
thought  of  all  Mrs.  Waters'  natural  objection  to  such 
a  playmate  for  her  Bella. 

"  Xo  ;  I  did  n't  go  to  see  her,"  said  Jemmy,  substi- 
tuting short  straws  for  the  banana  rind,  as  more 
accurately  representing  the  staircase. 

''  What  is  your  name,  my  little  man?" 

Jemni}'  looked  up.  lie  liked  to  be  called  a  "  little 
man,"  because  he  had  observed  that  it  was  invariably 
a  token  of  approbation.  So  he  gave  his  name  with 
great  dignity,  and  added,  "  She  came  to  see  me." 

"Paper,  sir?"  And  Mr.  Salsby  turned  to  see 
Nora  Craig's  fair  little  face  raised  to  him  with  offered 
news.  Instantly  he  remembered  her,  and  Jemmy's 
former  danger  of  capture  by  the  policeman.  lie 
produced  the  requisite  pennies,  and  took  a  paper. 

"  And  this  is  your  sister?"  he  asked. 

As  Jemmy  did  not  answer,  Nora  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 

"How  do  you  get  along  selling  papers?  Do  you 
like  it  as  well  as  ever?  ' 

"  It  does  very  avcU.  I  get  lots  of  monej^  by  it. 
But  I  have  kept  the  piece  you  gave  me.  Ned  told 
inQ  to  carry  it  for  luck." 


124  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COUKT. 

"Ah!" 

"  But  she  lets  me  wear  it ! "  cried  Jemmy,  proudly, 
pulling  at  a  string  around  his  neck,  and  bringing  up 
the  shining  bit  of  silver,  strung  upon  it  by  a  hole 
punched  therein. 

"  Then  I  'm  afraid  the  luck  will  be  yours,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

"  Paper,  sir?  "  said  Nora,  as  a  man  stopped  near  her. 
And  Mr.  Salsby  turned  as  if  to  go  away  ;  but  he  came 
back  again. 

"  Who  is  Ned?  "  he  asked  of  Jemmy. 

Jemmy  stared  a  moment,  and  then  answered,  "  News- 
boy?" 

"  Hut  Ned  who  ?  " 

"0,  Ned  Canton" 

"  And  where  do  you  live?  " 

Jemmy  thought  everybody  was  asking  where  he  lived 
to-day.     But  he  gave  the  answer  dutifully. 

Nora  had  returned  meanwhile,  and  she  added,  — 

"  "We  live  with  Tom  Canton  and  Bess.  We  all  live 
together,  because  there  is  n't  any  one  else  to  live  with. 
But  Jemm}'^  and  I  are  onl}''  staying  there  till  our  mother 
comes  back.  We  've  lost  her  somewhere,  but  she  '11 
come  for  us  by  and  by." 

"  So  j'ou  live  in  Amity  Court?  And  do  you  all  sell 
papers  and  earn  a  living  by  it  ?  " 

"  O,  no ;  only  Ned  and  I  do  that.     Tom  is  doing 


jemmy's  luck.  125 

something  else  in  an  office,  I  believe,  —  I  don't  know 
just  what,  —  Jemm}^  and  Harry  can't  do  anything,  and 
Bess  sa3-s  she  is  going  to  sell  papers  if  she  can't  find 
anything  else  to  do." 

"  Six  of  yo:i?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Salsby,  in  surprise. 

"Tom  said  we  might  stay  with  them  if  we  could  earn 
enough,"  explaimed  Nora,  not  quite  knowing  what  she 
was  expected  to  say, 

"  And  do  you  have  a  nice  house  to  live  in  ?  " 

"  It's  a  very  large  room  and  looks  out  on  the  river. 
It  is  up  top  of  the  house,  you  sec." 

"  I  must  go  down  and  see  how  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Salsb}'',  more  to  himself  than  to.  Nora,  as  he  walked 
away. 

Tlie  interruption  had  spoiled  Jemmy's  interest  in  his 
play.  He  swept  the  gathered  straws  out  of  their  mystic 
arrangement  into  the  street  again.  He  stared  vacantly 
about  him,  and  was  glad  Avhen  Ned  came  to  say  they 
could  go  home. 

But  at  home  his  mood  changed.  He  was  eager  to  tell 
to  Bess  and  Ilarr}''  all  the  wonderful  events  of  this  most 
rem'arkable  da}-,  and  he  dwelt  long  on  the  wonderful 
dress  and  house  of  little  Bella  Waters,  the  beautiful 
ladies,  and  the  strange  coincidence  that  Bella  had  said 
everybody  was  cross  except  the  prettj^  auntie  who  had 
talked  with  him.  To  Harry  the  recital  was  as  good  as 
a  story-book.     lie  listened  v.ith  deepest  interest,  and 


126  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

asked  many  questions  which  it  delighted  Jemmy  to 
answer.  Nora  gave  a  full  account  of  the  man  who  had 
twice  manifested  so  kindly  an  interest  in  thera,  and 
startled  Bess  by  the  announcement  that  he  was  coming 
to  see  them,  for  he  had  said  so. 

"  lie  could  n't  mean  it,"  Bess  said,  as  if  reassuring 
herself  from  her  dread  of  a  strange  vi.,itor. 

"  Perhaps  he  '11  help  us/'  said  Harry,  hopefully. 
"J  '11  tell  him  how  I  want  to  carve  pretty  things  and 
earn  something,  and  he  may  want  to  buy  some  if  he  is 
rich." 

Meanwhile  Jemmy  sat  still  and  demure,  in  the  last 
lingering  light  of  the  late  sunset  that  shone  faintly  in 
at  the  window  .overlooking  the  river.  He  was  gravely 
examining  the  bit  of  paper  with  a  picture  on  it  that  he 
had  found  under  the  steps.  The  dirt  was  easily  brushed 
off;  Jemmy  did  it  with  his  jacket-sleeve,  which  was  very 
convenient.  It  had  once  been  of  some  bright  hue,  that 
was  not  yet  quite  all  faded  out  A  colored  picture  was  a 
treasure  Jemmy  had  not  dreamed  of  possessing.  There 
was  a  man's  head,  and  on  the  other  side  a  very  much 
larger  picture ;  so  complicated  was  this  side  that  by 
the  waning  light  Jemmy  could  not  maKe  it  out  at  all. 
There  were  a  great  manj'  curious  letters  and  little  pic- 
tures  crowded  upon  this  wonderful  bit  of  paper.  It  wag 
quite  the  most  remarkable  thing  Jemmy  had  evel 
seen. 


jemmy's  luck,  127 

"  Come,  Jemmy, let 's  go  to  bed,"  said  Nora.  "  I'm 
eo  tired." 

"Wish  I  could  see  what's  on  here,"  said  Jemmy, 
with  sleepy  moderation, 

"  Come,"  said  Nora,  beginning  to  unbutton  his  little 
jacket. 

"  I  '11  take  it  to  bed,  and  then  I  '11  see  it  in  the  morn- 
ing," Jemmy  said. 

"  Yes."  And  Nora  lifted  him  down  from  the  chair  on 
which  he  had  been  standing. 

As  she  did  so  her  eye  fell  ou  the  valued  paper. 

"  Why,  Jemmy,  where  did  you  get  that?  " 

"  Under  the  steps  where  I  played  house  with  the  little 
girl,"  answered  Jemm}^,  wiih  a  yawn. 

"  Let  me  see  it.  I  believe  it's  money.  Bess,  come 
and  see." 

Bess  came,  and  opened  wide  her  bright  ej'cs  as  she 
looked.  And  then  the  tears  came  into  them,  as  she 
exclaimed  joyfully,  — 

"  0,  Nora  I  it 's  a  ten  dollar  bill  1  " 


128  TUE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE    LADIES. 


MRS.  DONALDSON  was  very  silent  and  thought- 
ful next  clay.  In  vain  her  mother  discoursed 
variedly  upon  such  topics  as  were  her  wont,  —  the 
weather,  what  to  wear,  and  the  coining  journey. 

Mrs.  Donaldson  answered  absently  or  not  at  all,  till 
Mrs.  Meredith  caught  the  infection,  and  was  silent 
also. 

Thus  the  forenoon  wore  along,  till  Mrs.  Donaldson 
said  abruptly,  — 

"  Where  is  the  need  of  my  going  to  the  water  with 
you  and  Sophy  ?  " 

"  "Wh}',  where 'd  be  the  pleasure,  if  you  didn't?" 
exclaimed  her  astonished  mother. 

"  I  think  I  could  make  myself  quite  as  happy  to 
stay  at  home  with  father." 

"  But  it  would  spoil  our  trip  —  Sophy's  and  mine. 
Don't  go  to  making  a  nun  of  j'ourself,  Ria.  You  are  a 
young  woman  yet,  not  twenty-five,  and  as  handsome  as 


THE    LADIES.  129 

ever  you  were  ;  and  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  mew  your- 
self up,  and  settle  down  to  caps  and  knitling-work." 

"  You  know  tatting  is  the  only  knitting  I  ever 
learned,"  returned  the  younger  lady,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  and  I  shall  not  need  caps  for  some  time,  my  hair  is 
so  good.  But,  nia,  I  dread  going  into  society  again. 
Seems  as  if  it  would  be  so  much  better  if  I  should  keep 
another  year  of  mourning." 

"  Nonsense  !  wh}'  j-ou  are  growing  older  every  year, 
child!  Do  3'ou  remember  that?  You'll  never  be  any 
younger  or  more  beautiful  than  you  are  now.  '  Make 
your  hay  Avhile  the  sun  shines,'  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Donaldson  rose  and  walked  away  to  the  win- 
dow, with  a  pained  look  on  her  fair,  gentle  face.  She 
had  been  indulging  in  day-dreams  this  morning.  She 
had  been  thinking  of  the  little  boy  she  saw  yesterdaj% 
who  had  no  parents,  and  needed  just  such  care  as  she 
longed  to  give.  INIore  and  more  had  grown  in  her  heart 
the  wish  to  take  some  orphan  child,  and  give  it  the  care 
that  would,  she  knew,  prove,  like  mercy,  — 

"  Twice  blessed ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes." 

If  only  her  mother  and  sister  would  go  without  her 
on  their  proposed  trip  to  the  watering-places  this  sum- 
mer, how  easily  could  she,  while  left  at  home  with  her 
kind  father,  talk  over  with  him  her  feelings  and  wishes  ; 
and,  with  his  approl)ation  and  support,  which  she  felt 


130  T.ia  c;iild:is\"  of  amity  codut. 

could  be  readilj'  gained,  might  she  not  find  a  motherless 
child  for  her  childless  heart  that  had  been  aching  with 
overburdening  mother-love  ever  since  her  own  dead 
baby  was  laid  in  her  arms  two  j'ears  ago? 

But  to  be  freed  from  this  journej',  —  that  was  the 
difficult  part  of  the  plan.  Her  mother  would  not  give 
her  up.  Mrs.  Meredith's  fascinations  of  airy  graces 
and  insinuating  sweetness  were  beginning  to  set  uneasily 
over  her  too  customary  frown  and  pettishness.  Mrs. 
Waters  had  not  yet  found  her  sharp  wa\s  softened  or 
toned  b}'  the  roughness  of  her  married  life  to  pleasing 
address.  Alone  the  two  ladies  were  scared}-  attractive, 
would  elicit  little  attention  ;  but  as  the  escort  of  the  rich 
widow  from  Scotland,  who,  besides  being  mistress  of 
vaguely  untold  wealth,  was  possessed  of  unusual  per- 
sonal attractions  in  beauty  and  sweetness,  their  position 
would  be  quite  different  Mrs.  Meredith  was  shrewd 
enough  to  see  all  this,  and  would  not  for  a  moment  hear 
of  losing  her  widowed  daughter's  companionship. 

So  Mrs.  Donaldson  sat  down  again,  and  relapsed  into 
silence.  It  was  almost  as  hard  now,  after  the  few 
yQCLVs  in  her  husband's  ancestral  home,  where  life-long 
servants  took  from  her  every  care  and  duty,  as  it  had 
been  in  her  girlhood,  for  her  to  oppose  her  own 
will  to  that  of  any  one  else,  or  to  instigate  any  sort  of 
proceedings  for  the  furtherance  of  her  own  views  un- 
approved and  unencouraged  by  the  approbation  of  her 


THE   LADIES.  131 

parents.  She  was  sadly  unequal  to  laying  out  and  con 
siimmating  well-wrought  plans  for  a  given  purpose. 
Enterprise  was  farthest  from  Mrs.  Donaldson's  cata- 
logue of  virtues.  Stnl  she  sat,  and  dreamed  of  the 
ruddy,  earnest,  little  man,  and  longed  to  see  again  his 
bright  eyes,  and  hear  his  cool,  decided  answers. 

One  thing  Mrs.  Donaldson  had  learned  since  her 
girlhood,  —  to  sometimes  take  prompt  actions  with  her 
impulses.  Tliey  seldom  led  her  into  error,  and  often 
opened  a  wa}-  she  could  not  before  devise  to  her  desired 
end.  Now  she  started  up  suddenly  and  pulled  the  bell, 
saying, — 

"  I  am  going  to  ride." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  ^Meredith. 

"  Wherever  my  fancy  leads  me,"  she  answered,  mer- 
rily, as  she  tripp:Kl  away  to  prepare  herself. 

When  she  returned  to  the  little  morning  parlor  in 
wliicli  the}'  had  been  sitting,  Mrs.  Meredith  had  also 
put  on  a  riding  costume,  and  was  chatting  in  very 
lively  manner  with  Mrs.  Waters,  who  had  just  come. 

"  I  thought  I  should  like  a  drive  too,  Ria,  dear," 
said  Mrs.  ^Meredith  ;  "  and  Sopli}'  says  she  will  go,  so 
there  will  be  a  pleasant  party  of  us  " 

"Yes,  that's  very  kind  of  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Don- 
aldson, absently,  after  she  had  welcomed  her  sister. 
As  she  had  planned  the  ride  with  the  hope  of  going 
alone,  and  the  intention  of  visiting  Amity  Court,  she 


132  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

was  scarcely  so  much  charmed  with  the  arrangement  as 
she  wished  lo  appear.  But  she  would  not  interfere 
with  their  plans,  and  so  followed  them  into  the  car- 
riage with  her  usual  docility. 

"  Which  way?  "  asked  the  footman,  as  he  closed  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Donaldson  exi)ectetl  her  companions  would  have 
some  choice,  so  did  not  give  the  order. 

''  AVhere  is  it?  "  cried  Mrs.  Meredith,  gayly,  turning 
to  her ;  "  where  does  your  fancy  lead  j'ou,  Madame 
Fanciful?" 

Finding  the  decision  thus  suddenly  thrust  uix)n  her- 
self, Mrs.  Donaldson  said  hastily,  "  Amity  Court,"  more 
because  she  had  no  time  to  frame  a  different  plan, 
than  because  she  really  cared  to  drive  there  with  her 
present  company. 

"Where  is  Amity  Court?"   asked  Mrs.  Waters. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  Mrs.  Donaldson  replied, 
timidl}'. 

But  it  seemed  the  driver  did ;  for  he  was  driving 
rapidly  on,  and  the  wheels,  spinning  merrily,  soon 
turned  into  the  narrow  limits  of  that  poverty-haunted 
place.     The  horses  baited. 

"Which  house,  marm?"  asked  the  footman  at  the 
door. 

"  You  '11  have  to  ask  some  one  where  the  Canton  chil- 
dren live/'  said  Mrs.  Donaldson,  with  some  hesitation. 


THE    LADIES.  133 

It  was  an  hour  past  noon,  and  the  children  were  all 
at  home,  except  To:n,  for  their  noonday  rest.    • 

"  There  are  some  strangers  coming,"  said  Harry,  to 
whose  patient,  listening  ears  every  footstep  of  the  house 
was  familiar. 

Ked  cut  short  his  interesting  story  of  a  little  lost 
dog  that  had  figured  in  to-day's  adventures,  and  all  the 
children  held  their  heads  statue-like  to  listen  for  so  long 
that  they  looked  like  a  group  of  frightened  rabbits  with 
sensitive  ears  erect. 

The  approacliing  tread  of  strangely  gentle  feet, 
accompanied  with  the  faint  rustle  of  voluminous 
robes,  was  a  long  time  in  reaching  the  upper  landing 
just  outside  their  door.  But  there  at  last  it  stopped, 
and  a  timid  knock  startled  the  silent  and  astonished 
children. 

Bess  opened  the  door,  and  politely  asked  her  elegant 
visitors  to  enter.  There  was  a  little  stiffness  about 
their  entrance.  When  Mrs.  Donaldson  had  declared 
her  intention  of  going  to  see  the  Cantons,  Mrs.  Mere- 
ditli  had  bestowed  all  manner  of  contempt  on  the  idea. 
Yet  sliC  persisted  not  only  in  carrying  it  out,  but  also 
in  leaving  the  caiTiage  and  accoiijpanjdng  her  daughter 
on  the  visit.  She  was  anxious  to  see  where  she  went 
and  what  she  did  She  could  not  have  her  falling  into 
any  foolish  extravagance  for  some  low  creatures,  or, 
worse  yet,   getting    personally    interested    in    orphan 


134  THE    CHIl-DRKN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

cbildi'i  11,  ill  this  miserable  portion  of  the  city,  and 
perliaps  driving  here  alone  to  visit  them.  She  could 
not  sufficiently  congi'atulate  herself  on  having  come 
out  to-day  with  Mrs.  Donaldson  for  the  ride.  If  there 
was  stiifness,  awkwardness,  embarrassment,  so  much 
the  better.  Mrs.  Meredith  meant  to  be  as  awe-inspir- 
ing as  she  could  ;  and,  to  do  her  justice,  she  certainly 
knew  how  to  exercise  a  strong  repellent  power  if  she 
chose. 

Bess,  who  welcomed  very  prettily  Mrs.  Donaldson's 
sweet  face,  felt  chilled  and  crushed  most  unpleasantly 
by  the  haught>'  gaze  and  manner  of  the  other  two  ladies. 
Jemmj',  recognizing  at  once  the  "pretty  auntie"  of 
Bella  Waters,  was  smitten  with  a  wave  of  hospitality, 
and,  leaving  his  dinner,  he  walked  straight  to  her, 
holding  out  his  hand.  But  he  said  nothing.  He 
tried  to  think  what  it  was  his  mother  used  to  say  when 
friends  came  that  she  was  glad  to  see.  He  wanted 
very  much  to  sa^'  something,  but  the  words  would 
not  come.  So  he  only  stood  with  his  brown  little 
hand  clasped  in  her  daintil}'^  gloved  one,  stariug  up 
into  her  lovely  face  with  a  bright  smile  of  welcome. 
Meanwhile,  Bess  had  placed  chairs  for  the  other  ladies, 
and  they  had  settled  their  ample  dresses,  and  sat 
proudly  upright,  regarding  the  surroundings  with  a 
disdainful  air. 

"  So  this   is  your  home  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Donaldson, 


THE    LADIES.  135 

as  she  took  the  chair  Bess  offered,  and  looked  into 
Jemmy's  admiring  eyes. 

"  Ye-es ;  I  live  here  just  now,  awhile,"  he  an- 
swered, slowly.  Then  catching  Nora's  hand,  and 
leading  her  forward,  he  said,  "  This  is  Nora." 

"Nora  Canton,  is  it?" 

"  Nora  Craig,"  cried  Jemra}',  quickly. 

"  He  's  my  brother,"  explained  Nora. 

"  0,  yes  !  " 

"  And  this  is  Bess,"  pursued  Jemmy,  taking  her  by 
the  hand  to  draw  her  towards  the  lady. 

Bess,  embarrassed  by  the  other  ladies,  who  were 
looking  coolly  around  the  room,  made  a  timid  courtes}', 
and  retired  to  a  chair  bj'^  the  table. 

"And  that's  Ned,  and  that's  Harry  in  the  bed," 
Jemmy  said,  hastily  pointing  and  enumerating. 

Having  finished  doing  the  honors  of  this  rapid  intro- 
duction. Jemmy  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  Gorgon 
gaze  of  Bella's  mamma,  and  relapsed  into  a  most 
unnatural  shyness. 

"  Is  Harry  sick?  "  asked  IVIrs.  Donaldson. 

Jemmy  was  staring  straight  in  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Waters,  who,  already  out-stared  by  him,  had  transferred 
lier  regards  to  the  most  disreputable  looking  one  of  the 
family,  in  bagg}'  trowsers,  g  im}'  hands,  shaggy,  uncut 
and  not  over-well  combed  hair,  and  f:eckled.  homely 
face,  —  iSed,  the  new&boy.     Ned's  appearance  never  <fid 


136  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 

him  an}'  great  credit,  and  he  was,  if  possible,  more 
unprepossessing  than  usual  to-day,  owing  to  recent 
accidents  to  his  clothes.  But  notwithstanding  these 
disadvaptages,  Ned  bore  the  ordeal  of  her  scrutiny 
with  admirable  indifference,  even  bestowing  a  grin  of 
approval  on  her  own  elegant  attire,  which  suited  his 
taste  exactl}',  and  mentally  resolving  that  his  wife 
should  have  just  such  a  suit  sometime,  when  he  got 
rich. 

"  No,  marm,*'  said  Bess,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Donald- 
son's kind  inquiry  concerning  Harrj'.  "  He  is  quite 
well." 

"  I  alwaj's  thought  he  was  sick  !  "  exclaimed  Jemmy, 
bounding  suddenly  to  the  bedside,  where  little  Harry 
sat,  propped  up  on  his  pillows,  the  coverlet  drawn 
upon  his  lap.  and  his  threadbare  jacket  made  from  one 
of  his  father's  old  coats  of  fine  broadcloth,  buttoned 
neatly  to  his  chin,  where  a  narrow  white  collar  relieved 
his  pale  face.  Harry  was  always  dressed  more  nicely 
than  th(!  others.  There  was  nothing  to  soil  or  even 
wear  his  clothes,  and  his  sensitive,  transparent  skin 
seemed  fitted  only  for  finer  fabrics. 

"Why  don't  you  get  up.  then?  You  shan't  lie  in 
bed  if  3'ou  're  not  sick  ! "  And  Jemmy  tore  aside  the 
coverlet  and  caught  Hairy  around  the  waist.  A  white 
spasm  of  dread  crossed  Han  y's  face. 

Jemmy  started  suddenly  back  with  dumb  horror  in 


THE    LADIES.  137 

his  ronnd  ej'es,  and  ran  to  Nora.  Burying  his  face  in 
her  lap,  he  gave  vent  to  a  series  of  mournful  cries,  as  if 
he  would  never  be  comforted. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Jemmj'  ?  "  asked  Nora,  ten- 
derly-. 

"O!  he  hasn't  —  he  hasn't  got  any  legs!  Oo- 
oo-oo !  " 

Nora  knew  it,  and  tried  to  calm  Jemmy. 

Ilany  turned  awa}'  his  face,  and  toars  of  shame  and 
pain  rolled  down  his  pale  cheeks,  while  Bess  sheltered 
him  with  herself  from  the  astonished  gaze  of  the  ladies, 
and  said  gentle,  loving  words  of  comfort.  Even  Mrs. 
Meredith  relaxed  a  little  her  severe  elegance,  and  said 
"  Poor  boy  !  "  in  her  silvery  accents.  But  Mrs.  Waters 
was  simph'  annoyed,  and  showed  it  plainlj'. 

The  painful  moment  brought  Ned  into  prominence. 
He  felt  the  need  of  a  diversion  of  thought,  and  was 
read}'  to  furnish  it.  Mrs.  Donaldson  was  trying  to  aid 
Nora  in  pacifying  Jemm}'.  Mrs.  Meredith  had  ven- 
tured a  word  in  commiseration  for  Harry.  Mrs.  Waters 
alone  sat  erect  and  unsympathetic. 

Stepping  from  his  corner,  where  he  had  not  relin- 
quished si}'  bites  of  his  lunch,  spite  of  the  august  com- 
pany, Ned  addressed  her  as  being  the  most  formidable 
of  the  party,  and  also  the  least  occupied  with  any 
interest  in  the  turn  which  affairs  had  taken. 

"  Please,  marm,  I  like  3'our  dress  very  much.    I  don't 


138  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITT    COURT. 

see  one  like  it,  or  half  so  handsome,  from  one  year's 
end  to  another." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  should  be  likely  to,"  replied 
Mrs.  Waters,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  contemptu- 
ous curl  of  her  lip . 

"  O,  we  of  the  newspaper-perambulating  corp^  see 
almost  everything.  We  see  lots  of  grandeur  some- 
times, —  but  the  grandeur  never  sees  us,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Waters  made  no  reply,  unless  another  toss  of 
her  head  were  such. 

"  It 's  ver3'  sad  al)out  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Meredith. 
"  So  3'oung !     How  did  he  lose  his  limbs?  " 

A  little  pain  cra;np  cam3  in  Ned's  fixce,  as  he  an- 
swered, bravely,  though  in  a  lower  tone,  that  Harry 
might  not  hear,  — 

"  He  never  had  any.     Bom  so." 

Words  failed  oven  Mrs.  Meredith.  She  tried  to  ex- 
press S3'mpathy,  pit}',  regret,  in  her  face,  but  horrified 
surprise  would  predominate.  Even  Mrs.  Waters  looked 
astonished. 

Ned  did  not  like  the  prevailing  sentiment.  It  hurt 
the  Cantons,  always,  to  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that 
Harr^'  was  so  terribly  different  from  other  folks.  They 
knew  so  well  that  in  many  ways  he  was  infinitel}-  better 
and  lovelier  than  average  humanity,  that  they  shrank 
from  common  pity  and  commiseration. 

*'  I  'm  sorry  j'ou  took  the  trouble  to  come  up  all  these 


THE    LADIES.  139 

stairs  to  make  us  a  visit,"  Ned  began  aggressively,  and 
speaking  pointedly  to  INIrs.  Meredith  and  Mrs.  Waters, 
with  liis  back  to  Mrs.  Donaldson,  that  she  might  not 
be  included  in  the  i*eraark.  "  I  don't  think  j'ou  had 
any  special  call  to,  and  j'ou  might  ha*  known  you'd 
find  something  to  shoc'v  sucli  fine  feelings  as  yours 
are." 

"  IVIrs.  Donaldson  is  ready  to  go  now,  I  presume," 
said  Mrs.  Meredith,  turning  to  her  daughter,  who  was 
still  bending  over  .lemmy.  With  Nora's  help  the  little 
fellow  had  been  diverted  from  his  agonized  frame  of 
mind,  and  was  regaining  his  usnal  equilibrium. 

"  It  was  I  who  wanted  to  come  here  to  see  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Donaldson  to  Ned,  in  a  doubtful  voice.  "  But  I  am 
sorr}'  if  you  think  it  was  taking  too  great  a  liberty ;  I 
know  r  was  not  invited." 

"  I  did  n't  say  yon"  Ned  answered,  confused  with 
this  application  of  his  words.  "  You  came  because  you 
wanted  to,  and  af  course  we  are  glad  to  see  such  com- 
pany. But  these  ladies  never  wanted  to  come,  and  now 
they  —  they  —  " 

Ned  stopped,  at  a  loss  to  express  his  objection  or 
complaint  against  the  fine  ladies  who  were  already 
nearly  out  ,of  the  room. 

"May  I  come  a;^aiu,  if  I  will  come  alone?*'  asked 
Mrs.  Donaldson,  in  a  low  tone 

Ned  was  growing  very  uncomfortable  in  his  embar- 


140  THE    CIIILDUEN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

rassment.     But  good  feeling  overcame  shame,  and  he 
said,  earnestly,  — 

"  Please,  —  you  know  I  did  n't  mean  you.  You  are 
kind  and  good,  and  we  could  n't  help  being  glad  if  you 
should  come." 

Mrs.  Donaldson  smiled  half  sadly,  yet  she  was  happ}' 
—  a  tearful  kind  of  happiness  —  that  she  had  succeeded 
in  making  one  hearty  friend. 

"  Then  I  shall  come  again,  sometime."  Will  you  be 
glad  to  see  me?"  she  asked,  as  she  bent  over  Harry, 
and  took  his  fair,  thin  hand  in  hers. 

"  O,  yes,  marm ! "  said  he;  "but  I  think  you'd 
better  not  bring  the  others.  They  would  not  enjoy 
coming,  and  — we  don't,"  he  added,  hesitatingly. 

Mrs.  Donaldson  smiled.  "  I  '11  remember,"  she  said  ; 
and  shaking  hands  kindly  with  each  one,  she  followed 
the  sound  of  the  retreating  robes  of  the  rest  of  the 
party. 

"  What  ever  induced  you  to  want  to  go  to  such  a 
place?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Meredith,  in  her  usual  lan- 
guid tones,  when  they  were  once  more  seated  in  the 
carriage,  and  whirling  away  to  more  pleasant  scenes. 

"  Ria  seems  to  have  some  low  tastes,"  observed 
Mrs.  Waters  ;  "  I  suppose  she  learned  them  in  Scotland, 
visitin;^  the  tenantry.  It  is  quite  the  fashion  there  to 
play  Lady  Bountiful  and  cultivate  tender  interest  in  the 
poor,  is  n't  it  ?    You  '11  find  it  is  n't  so  stylish  here." 


THE   LADIES.  1  il 

"  I  'm  sure  this  experience  will  care  yon  of  ever  try- 
ing it  again,"  said  Mrs.  Meredith.  "  You  will  see 
that  our  poor  are  not  at  all  like  tid}',  decent  peasantiy. 
It  is  natural  they  should  not  be.  Because  here  in  a 
free  country,  nobody  has  any  business  to  be  poT.  Only 
the  shiftless,  miserable,  idle  classes  are  so  ;  the  better, 
more  decent,  and  industrious  people  can  live  very  com- 
fortably without  help.  Charity,  in  New  York,  is  only 
encouragement  to  idleness." 

Mrs.  Donaldson  did  not  reply. 

"There's  an  olcirant  turnout,"  said  Mrs.  "Waters. 
And  so  the  co:;A-ersation  drifted  away  to  the  more  com- 
mon topics  of  style,  fashion,  and  the  coming  summer 
journe3^ 

Mrs.  Donddson  was  silent,  but  not  convinced.  She 
could  not  argue  the  -subject ;  but  she  rrmembered  that, 
even  were  her  mother's  h  .rd  theor}''  true,  these  were 
only  children.  Six  orphans,  trying  to  earn  a  living 
with  their  scanty  knowledge  and  opportunity ;  four  of 
them  toiling  to  support  one,  a  cripple,  and  one  scarce 
more  than  a  babj',  besides  themselves.  The  anxious 
motherliness  of  Bess  and  Nora,  the  brave  earnestness 
of  shrewd,  wide-awake  Ned,  the  newsboy,  all  touched 
her  hungry  heart,  and  made  her  long  to  see  them  again, 
when  no  adverse  influence  should  prevent  her  entering, 
as  heartily  and  kindly  as  she  felt,  into  the  stor}'  of 
their  life  and  plans.     She  longed  to  help  them,  but  she 


142  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

did  ni^'t  3'et  sec  how  it  could  be  done.  Meanwhile  she 
resolved  to  talk  with  her  father  about  them,  and  to  come 
soon  to  see  them  a^ain,  taking  care  that  no  one  should 
accompany  her. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  carry  out  any  plan  so  directly 
at  variance  witli  the  whole  tenor  of  Mrs.  IMercdith's 
life  and  occupations.  There  was  always  plenty  of  more 
fashionable  emploj^ment  for  Mrs.  Donaldson,  and 
scared}'  an  hour  in  the  day  was  free  from  her  mother's 
demands  upon  her  company'.  Thus  it  was  many  long 
weeks  before  she  again  saw  any  of  these  children  of 
Amity  Court. 


THE    LANDLORD.  143 


CHAPTER    XII. 


THE     LANDLORD. 


"  T  AM  so  glad  we  have  the  rent  ready  !  "  said  Bess, 

-■-  as  she  rocked  Harry,  one  very  warm  morning. 
All  the  other  children  were  away  at  their  work,  for 
even  little  Jeramy  was  becoming  quite  useful  iu  selling 
papers,  and  added  no  mean  amount  to  the  da^^'s  receipts. 

"It  was  good  of  Jemmy  to  give  up  his  money  so 
readily,"  was  Harry's  reply. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bess,  laughingly  ;  "  it  seemed  almost 
like  cheating  him,  he  had  so  little  idea  of  what  ten 
dollars  is  worth  !    But  what  else  could  we  do  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  understood  it,"  said  Harry.  "  Xora  and 
I  explained  to  him  that  it  would  pay  the  rent  and  buy 
a  nice  Sunday  dinner  for  all  of  us,  and  leave  enough 
to  buy  him  a  little  wheelbarro'.v  to  hold  Nora's  papers, 
too,  Avhich  was  what  he  chose  instead  of  the  d:um,  at 
last,  — though  he  did  want  the  drum  very  much." 

"What  did  he  know  about  rent?"  said  Bess,  laugh- 
ing. 


144  THE   CUILUREN    OF   AMITY   COURT. 

"  We  told  liim,  and  he  understood.  Whj',  liess, 
Jemmy  isn't  stupid,  and  rent  is  not  very  hard  to 
understand." 

"  Well,  no,  I  suppose  not ;  but  I  had  never  heard  of 
it  when  I  was  at  his  age." 

"  I  think  children  can  understand  the  same  things 
grown  folks  can ;  and  I  should  think  folks  would  tell 
them  all  about  their  affairs.  It  must  be  a  great  deal 
pleasauter.  When  I  was  little,"  said  Harry,  with  a  sigh, 
"  ami  used  to  lie  all  day  with  nothing  to  think  about,  but 
some  little  story  you  read  for  me,  it  was  dreadfully'-  hard. 
You  know  how  fussy  and  cross  I  was,  and  how  I  used 
to  moan  and  cry.  'T  wasn't  because  I  ached,  as  folks 
thought.  'T  was  only  because  I  had  n't  anything  to 
think  of  that  interested  me.  After  father  was  sick,  and 
we  came  to  the  city,  and  1  heard  all  about  the  trouble, 
somehow  I  was  n't  nearly  so  unhappy.  Mother  used  to 
try  to  hide  things  from  me,  but  I  would  n't  let  her. 
She  thought  it  was  hard  to  tell  me  trouble,  but  it  was 
not  half  so  hard  as  not  having  auj'thing  to  think  about. 
Truly,  Bess,  the  happy  part  of  my  life  has  been  since 
the  trouble  came,  —  especially  since  I  picked  rags,  and 
knew  I  was  helping." 

'•  When  I  get  so  I  can  carve,"  resumed  Harry,  after 
a  pause,  in  which  Bess  still  rocked  softly,  but  held  him 
more  closely  and  lovingly,  "  I  shall  be  so  glad  !  I  drew 
a  design  to-day,  but  it  was  too  fine  for  me  to  carve. 


TUE    LAXDLOHD.  145 

To-clay  I  mean  to  try  and  cut  something  just  to  be 
getting  used  to  handling  the  knife  and  the  wood.  But 
I  am  dreadfully  lazy  to-day,  —  seems  as  if  I  'd  like  to 
have  you  rock  me  all  daj-.  I  suppose  it  is  because  it 
is  so  hot." 

"  I  wish  this  room  was  n't  so  hot,"  said  Bess,  looking 
anxiously  at  the  wide  uncurtained  and  Windless  win- 
dows, where  the  sun's  straight  raj's  beat  steadily  in  from 
his  first  rise  in  the  morning  till  his  last  blink  at  night. 

"  There  are  some  men  walking  about  the  house. 
They  may  come  up  here.  You  'd  better  pat  me  back 
in  bed,"  said  Harry. 

"Perhaps  it's  the  landlord,"  suggested  Bess,  as  she 
laid  him  comfortably  and  tenderly  on  the  cot.  "  It 
is  time  for  him." 

"  It  is  n't  his  step,"  answered  Harry.  "  But  then  he 
may  have  sent  another  man." 

The  footsteps  continued  to  tramp  about  the  house, 
now  on  one  floor,  then  on  another,  till  at  last  they 
reached  the  upper  landing,  and  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door  of  the  Cantons'  room. 

Two  gentlemen  stoo<l  outside  and  bowed,  as  Bess 
opened  the  door.  Neither  of  them  was  the  landlord's 
agent  who  had  collected  the  rents  ever  since  the  Can- 
tons had  lived  in  Amity  Court. 

"  Good-morning,  good-morning  !  "  said  quickly  the 
elder  of  the  two,  a  bustling,  nervous,  little  old  man  who 
10 


14G  TIIIC    CIIILDIilCX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

stepped  bacic  with  a  deferential  flourish,  to  allow  the 
other  gentleman  to  enter  first. 

"  This  is  the  landlord,  come  to  look  after  his  tene- 
ments and  tenants,"  he  continued,  following  liastily  into 
the  room,  and  himself  placing  a  chair  for  Mr.  Salsb}', 
before  Bess  had  time  to  do  so.  "  Not  every  landlord 
would  take  so  much  trouble.  Now,  this  seems  a  good, 
large,  air^'  room,  sir  One  could  n't  want  a  better  tene- 
ment than  this,  I  'm  sui'e." 

Mr.  Salsby  smiled  roguishly  as  he  remarked,  "  I  can't 
tell  how  I  should  like  it  till  I  have  lived  here." 

"  O,  for  3'ourself,  sir,  I  did  n't  moan,  of  coarse." 

IMr.  Salsby  turned  his  chair  to  Bess,  who  had  retreated 
and  sat  down  on  Harry's  bed,  wondering  what  all  this 
visit  might  mean,  and  rejoicing  more  and  more,  in  her 
heart,  that  she  had  the  rent  ready.  The  landlord 
could  not  be  intending  to  send  them  out,  for  they  had 
always  paid  it  promptly  each  month. 

"  How  do  you  like  tho  room?"  Mr.  Salsby  asked  of 
her. 

"  Very  well,  sir.  It  4.>*  large  and  airy.  We  like  that, 
—  but  it  does  get  very  hot  here,  days,  in  summer." 

"Yes,  I  perceive  that,"  said  the  landlord,  smiling, 
and  wiping  his  forehead  with  a  dainty  handkerchief. 
"  Mr.  Jenks,  do  you  observe  any  change  in  tempera- 
ture between  this  and  the  cellar  of  the  block,  where 
we  began  our  survey  ?  " 


THE    LANDLORD.  147 

"  Well  —  yes,  sir  — yes,"  replied  Mr.  Jeuks,  in  quick, 
jerky  tones  "  But  you  can't  expect  —  no  one  can  ex- 
pect —  a  garret  to  be  as  cool  as  a  cellar  in  summer." 

"  Not  quite,  I  suppose,"  returned  Mr.  Salsby,  with  a 
calmness  very  noticeable  in  its  contrast  with  Mr.  Jeuks. 
"  What  do  you  say,  little  lady  ;  what  do  you  think 
would  improve  your  tenement  ?  " 

"We  used  to  have  blinds  at  home,  sir,"  replied  Bess, 
timicly. 

The  answer  showed  so  plainly  that  "  at  home  "  had 
been  something  better  than  her  present  surroundings, 
that  ]Mr.  Salsby  was  interested. 

"  Tlien  you  shall  have  blinds  here,"  he  answered, 
quickly.  "  Now  will  you  tell  me  what  is  your  name, 
and  where  was  your  home  before  you  came  here  ?  " 

Bess  replied  with  a  short  sketch  of  the  family  history, 
and  the  loss  of  tlieir  parents,  ending  with  a  summing- 
up  of  their  present  condition. 

"  So  we  all  live  h"re,  and  have  paid  our  rent  every 
month.  I  luive  it  ready  to-day.  Tom  has  got  a  place 
in  an  office  now.  Ned  and  Nora  sell  papers,  and 
Jemmy  helps,  t'.iough  he  is  onl}^  five  3'ears  old,  —  but 
he  is  large  of  his  age,  and  seems  older.  Ilarr^'^  is 
learning  to  carve  and  will  earn  something  again,  as 
soon  as  he  can,  and  I  am  going  to  work  very  soon.  I 
go  out  part  of  tlie  day  now." 

"  What  do  you  do?" 


1  18  THE   CIIILDRKN    OF    AMIXr   COURT. 

Bess  did  not  like  to  confess  that  slie  sold  papers, 
after  all  that  Tom  had  said.  She  could  not  help  a 
blush  and  look  of  shame. 

"  She  sells  papers,  like  Nora,"  said  Ilarrj,  quietly. 
And  Bess  was  relieved  to  observe  that  the  gentleman 
seemed  to  have  none  of  Tom's  objections  to  the  work. 

"  Very  good  tenants ;  very  good  indeed,  I  should 
think,"  observed  Mr.  Jenks,  suddenly  blowing  his  nose, 
with  his  usual  impetuosity. 

Mr.  Salsby  sat  gloomily  silent,  thinking  that  had  the 
room  been  comfortably  tight  and  warm  last  winter, 
these  children  might  not  now  be  motherless.  Such 
a  sharp  pain  of  remorse  came  over  him,  as  he  thought 
of  the  ten-ible  result  of  what  was  certainly  his  remiss- 
ness, and  for  which  he  spared  himself  no  jot  of  blame, 
that  he  could  n(;t  answer,  and  only  sat  looking  sadly 
and  thoughtfull}'-  down  at  the  floor. 

"  Here  is  the  rent,  sir,"  Bess  said,  offering  the  money. 

Mr.  Salsby  looked  up  quickly.  His  voice  was  want- 
ing, or  he  would  have  bid  her  keep  it.  But  Mr.  Jenks 
hastened  to  take  the  money,  and  proceeded  to  fumble 
the  papers  of  his  pocket-book,  till  ho  found  a  signed 
receipt  for  it, 

•'  It  is  all  right.  I  am  IMr.  Salsby's  agent.  I  am  to 
have  the  care  of  these  tenements  in  future  ;  I  shall 
collect  the  rents  and  make  any  repairs  necessary.  All 
complaints,  requests  for  blinds,  and  so  forth,"  he  said 


THE    LANDLORD.  149 

witli  a  laugh,  "  will  be  addressed  lo  rae,  and,"  he  adde.], 
with  a  respectful  bow  to  the  landlord,  "  with  your 
sanction,  promptly  carried  out." 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  look  at  the  buildings  myself  also, 
Mr.  Jenks,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  No  need,  not  the  least  need  ;  and,  excuse  me,  but 
if  3'ou  have  an  agent,  it  is  best  to  trust  him,  you 
know." 

"  I  do  trust  you,"  was  the  polite  reply  ;  "  but,"  with  a 
smile,  ''  I  shall  also  take  care  that  you  shall  not  forget 
anything.  My  former  agent  had  a  very  poor  memory. 
He  often  forgot  my  orders.  I  shall  go  and  look  for 
myself,  to  be  sure  that  3'ou  do  not  forget." 

The  little  old  man  bowed  hastily,  and  replied,  "  Cer- 
tainl3%  sir,  certainly,"  with  great  conciliation. 

Bess  was  wondering  whether  the  agent  would  prove 
as  kind  as  the  landlord,  and  very  glad  to  know  that  Mr. 
Salsby  intended  to  keep  watch  of  his  tenants  for  him- 
self, in  future. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  sound  of  coming  steps  on  the 
stairs,  and  voices,  too,  were  heard.  Ned  came  scam- 
pering up,  —  not  noisily,  for  he  was  barefooted,  and  very 
lightfooted  also,  —  and  hitting  the  door  a  thud  with  his 
heel  to  open  it,  he  I'olled  himself  in  like  a  wheel,  arms 
and  legs  for  spokes,  in  a  very  unique  and  scientific 
method  of  somersault  It  was  a  trick  he  had  learned 
to  amuse  baby  Harry  in  his  careless  youth,  and  had  not 


150  THE  criiLDR;:x  of  amity  court. 

practised  since  graver  duties  had  devolved  upon  him. 
lie  ceased  revolving,  and  stood  erect  befo:e  IIarr3's 
bed,  but  also  before  two  strange  gentlemen.  IMore- 
over,  this  unusual  method  of  progress  being  somewhat 
at  variance  w^ith  attraction  of  gravitation,  the  pennies 
forsook  his  baggy  pockets,  while  his  heels  were  upper- 
most, and  went  earthward  in  a  shower,  rolling  raer- 
ril}^  away  into  f;orners,  under  beds  and  chairs,  as 
if  themselves  intent  on  a  good  game  of  "  hide-and- 
seek." 

Ned  stood  astonished  and  abashed,  as  Nora  and 
Jemmy  pushed  in  at  the  half-open  door.  The  uneasiest 
of  grins  spread  on  his  queet*  little  face,  and  diving  his 
hands  into  his  nearly  empty  pockets,  he  muttered,  — 

"  I  forgot  all  about  the  coppers." 

Ned's  object  being,  however,  to  amuse  Harry,  the 
effort  must  be  considered  an  eminent  success.  Harry 
laughed  and  laughed,  till  he  liad  to  hold  with  both  hands 
the  sides  of  his  curly  head,  it  ached  so  Jemmy  and 
Nora  ran  to  pick  up  the  pennies,  laughing  gayl}''  at  the 
fun.  Even  the  two  gentlemen  could  not  resist  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  entrance ;  and  poor  Bess,  puzzled  and 
frightened,  was  glad  to  follow  their  good-natured  exam- 
ple and  laugh  with  them.  Then  s'.ie  hastened  to  intro- 
duce to  them  Ned,  as  her  brother,  the  newsboy.  She 
said  it  proudly,  with  a  look  of  honest  trust  and  admira- 
tion at  the  droll,  kind-hearted,  keen-witted  little  fellow, 


THE    LANDLORD.  151 

that  both  gentlemen  could  not  but  see,  and  rate  Ned 
therefore  the  higher  in  their  opinion. 

"Bess  had  the  money  for  you  to  day,  sir,  all  right, 
I  believe,*'  said  Ned,  in  a  business  tone,  not  quite  cer- 
tain to  wliich  gentleman  the  remark  should  be  addressed. 

"Yes,  all  light,  quite  right,"  quickly  replied  Mr. 
Jenks,  running  his  fingers  through  his  thin  gray  hair, 
and  wondering  how  mueii  longer  Mr.  Salsb}'  was  going 
to  sit  broiling  in  this  hot  atlic.  "  I  gave  her  the 
receipt." 

"  And  there  shall  be  blinds  added  to  keep  out  this 
terrible  sun,"  said  Mr  Salsby.  "  Do  not  forget,  Mr. 
Jenks,  and  have  them  on  as  soon  as  possible ;  not 
another  day  without  them.  Then  you  will  find  it  a  com- 
fortable tenement,  I  hope  "  he  added,  turning  to  Ned. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  for  summer." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  ;  I  will  have  it  made  snug  and 
warm  before  another  winter.  It  cannot  be  really 
habitable  in  cold  weather.  I  will  have  that  done  also, 
in  due  season." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  cried  Ned  and  Bess  together. 

"And  what  is  the  matter  with  your  sick  brother?" 
asked  Mr.  Salsb\'.     '•  Has  he  been  sick  long?" 

"  He  is  not  sick,  sir,  but  crippled,"  replied  Bess. 

"  I  '11  tell  yer,"  said  Jemmy,  tugging  at  his  coat  skirt, 
to  call  his  eyes  down  to  himself. 

"  Hush,  Jemmy,"  said  Nora ;   adding,  in  a  whisper, 


152  THE    CniLDREX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

"  Harry  won't  like  it."  And  Jemmy  forbore  the  delight 
of  giving  information  to  the  gentleman. 

"  Seems  to  me  he  does  not  look  well,"  said  the  land' 
lord,  kindly,  taking  Harry's  hand  in  his,  as  he  stood  by 
the  bedside.  "  His  face  is  flushed,  his  eyes  are  hazy, 
and  his  hand  is  very  hot." 

"Aren't  you  well,  Harr}'?"  asked  Bess,  tenderly, 
bending  over  him  and  smoothing  away  the  light  curly 
hair  from  his  burning  face. 

"  O,  3'e3, 1  'm  well,"  said  Harry,  freeing  his  hand  from 
Mr.  Salsby's  to  draw  it  across  his  eyes,  "  only  it  is  so 
hot  here,  it  makes  m}^  head  ache.  It  will  go  when  the 
sun  goes  down,  and  the  cool  night  comes  on.  AVe  have 
fine,  cool  nights  here,  sir,"  Harry  continued,  to  Mr. 
Salsb}' ;  "  the  wind  blows  in  fresh  from  the  river  and 
away  out  at  sea.  "We  can  hear  the  water  lap  and  plash 
all  the  time.  I  like  the  place  for  that  reason  —  and  for 
man}'  others,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  we  can  stay  here 
next  winter  and  have  it  comfortable." 

"  You  shall  have  it  comfortable,  little  man,"  said 
Mr.  Salsb}'.  "  And,  Mr.  Jenks,  don't  forget  to  have 
the  blinds  put  up  to-night,  or  to-morrow  morning 
early." 

"The}' '11  need  painting,  sir,"  suggested  Mr.  Jenks, 
wiping  off  his  face,  which  was  growing  quite  rosy. 

"  Find  some  already  painted.  Or  have  them  put  up 
without,"  said  the  landlord,  impatiently. 


THE    LANDLORD.  153 

Mr.  Jenks  stared,  opened  his  mouth  to  say  that 
would  be  shiftless  and  wasteful,  but  shut  it  again  in 
silence. 

Nora  had  picked  up  the  last  of  the  pennies,  and 
brought  them  to  Ned. 

*'  And  3'ou  have  introduced  the  innovation  of  letting 
girls  sell  papors,  with  boys?"  said  Mr.  Salsby,  smiling 
roguishly  upon  Ned,  as  he  was  returning  the  specie 
Nora  brought  to  his  pockets. 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  Ned.  "  Nora  sells  papers, 
but  she  doesn't  keep  I'ouad  with  us  boys  at  all,  and 
I  *ve  given  out  distinctly  that  I  '11  lick  the  first  fellow 
that  does  n't  let  her  alone,  and  leave  her  a  clear  field 
and  fair  chance.  They  know  me ;  and  so  they  don't 
run  her.  She  has  her  haunts  and  sells  there  ;  and  they 
just  go  somewhere  else  " 

Bess  looked  up,  astonished.  So  did  Harry.  Nora, 
having  been  privately  instructed  by  Ned  concerning 
this  arrangement  long  ago,  only  said  simply,  as  if  re- 
porting to  Ned,  — 

"  They  have  all  kept  away,  and  behaved  well." 

"  The  threat  must  bs  very  effectual,  if  it  frightens 
all  the  newsboys  of  tlie  city  into  respectful  submis- 
sion," said  Mr.  Salsby,  not  very  much  pleased  w'th 
the  story. 

Ned  laughed  good-humoredly.  "  O,  I  only  said  that ; 
it 's  all  talk,  —  an  emphatic  way  of  making  a  request. 


154  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

They  understood  it,  and  j^ou  would,  if — if  you  were 
much  acquainted  with  uewsboj'S,  sir,"  Ned  ended,  mak- 
ing up  in  respectfulness  of  tone  for  the  words,  and 
looking  up  in  Mr  Salsby's  face  with  bright,  honest  eyes. 
"  I  never  had  a  fight  with  a  newsboy  but  once  since 
I've  been  in  the  trade,  an  1  then  the  rest  all  said  it  was 
right ;  and  if  I  could  n't  have  won  without,  they  would 
have  helped  me.  But  it  was  better  I  should  beat  him 
alone,  if  I  could,  of  course ;  and  I  did."  And  Ned 
turned  away,  a  little  a  shame  1  of  what  seemed  like  tell- 
ing of  his  own  exploits. 

"  I  shall  look  in  here  to  see  3'ou  again,"  said  Mr. 
Salsby,  '•  and  I  hope  the  blinds  will  take  all  the  flush 
out  of  Harry's  cheeks." 

"  I  hope  so^  too,"  echoed  Bess. 

*'  And  if  you  get  oat  of  work,  or  into  any  trouble, 
very  likely  I  can  help  j'ou  in  some  way."  And  Avith  a 
departing  bow,  the  gentlemen  went  out  and  down  the 
stairs. 

"  Very  fine  children  ;  quite  remarkable,  altogether," 
said  Mr.  Jenks,  as  they  regained  the  sidewalk. 

"  Decidedly  my  most  interesting  tenants,"  said  Mr. 
Salsby,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  remembering  some  of  the 
other  rooms  they  had  visited,  the  slatternly  house-keei> 
ing,  and  coarse,  rough  occupants,  with  many  complaints, 
tardy  rent,  and  bad  manners. 

"  Those  children,  I  '11  wager  now,  will  get  on  better 


THE   LANDLORD.  155 

than  half  the  grown  people  do  around  here.  Because 
they  seem  to  know  how  to  plan  and  provide." 

"  They  come  of  good  family,  and  have  evidently 
had  some  schooling  in  the  cares  of  life  already." 

"  O,  yes.     No  doubt,  r.o  doubt !  " 

Nora  sat  perched  on  the  foot  of  Harry's  cot. 
"Wasn't  he  nice,  Bess?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes  " 

"  lie 's  the  same  one  who  was  so  kind  to  me,  and 
gave  me  the  silver  piece  that  Jemmy  wears.  I  think 
he  is  tlie  nicest  gentleman  I  ever  saw." 

"  It 's  jolly  having  such  a  good  landlord,"  said  pro- 
saic Ned.     '•  The  other  was  a  sharp,  rough  one." 

"  Ah,  but  he  was  the  agent.  It  is  the  same  land- 
lord," said  Bess  ;  "  he  has  only  changed  his  agent,  and 
I  did  not  like  Mr.  Jcnks  so  very  much." 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  said  IlaiT}-. 

"  But  he  says  he  is  coming  himself  to  see  that  ever}- 
thing  is  right,"  said  Nora.  "  lie  will  do  as  he  promises. 
He  said  the  other  day,  in  the  street,  that  he  must  come 
here  —  but  I  d'.d  n't  suppose  he  would.  And  now  he 
has." 

"  He  came  to  look  after  his  houses,  not  after  us," 
pronounced  Ned. 

"  But  he  is  looking  after  us  —  the  blinds,  3'ou  know," 
said  Bess. 

"  We  have  n't  got  'em  yet,"  said  Ned,  quietly  and 


156  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

doubtfully,  "  but  I  hope  we  shall  have  'em,"  he  added, 
seeing  Harry's  face  sadden  at  his  doubt. 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall,"  said  Bess. 

"  I  wonder,"  began  Xora,  slowly,  —  "I  wonder  if  ho 
would  know  anything  about  Eva  Roberts."  And  she 
sighed  deeply.  "  I  did  so  want  to  ask  those  ladies,  the 
pretty  one,  I  mean,  if  she  knew  her.  Somehow  I 
thought  perhaps  she  might,  for  Miss  Eva  was  very  fine 
and  dressed  beautifully,  like  them.  But  Jemmy  cried 
so  I  could  n't  get  a  chance,  and  then  I  forgot  it  just  as 
she  went  away.  I  remembered  her  again  to-day,  when 
I  saw  the  gentleman.  But  I  suppose  he  would  n't  know 
her.  If  I  could  only  find  her,  perhaps  she  would  help 
us  to  find  mamma." 

"  The  lady  said  she  was  coming  again,  and  then  you 
can  ask  her,"  said  Harry. 

"  I  certainly  will,"  said  Nora. 


OKE  LESS.  157 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ONE     LESS. 

"  O  EE  what  I  have  found  ! "  said  Nora,  pushing  open 

>^-^  the  door,  one  hot  afternoon,  and  pouring  out 
a  pile  of  little  blocks  and  chips  of  sdft  pine  wood  upon 
IIarr3^'s  bed.  "  There  are  lots  of  'era,  and  Jemmy  has 
filled  his  baiTow  with  them." 

The  bits  and  ends  of  mouldings  had  suggested  to  the 
children  Harry's  carving ;  and  feeling  sure,  from  the 
curious  shapes  of  thes<?,  that  the  material  must  bo  suit- 
able, they  hastened  to  bring  home  a  large  quantity. 

"  They  are  nice,"  said  Ilarr}-,  sitting  up  to  turn  them 
over  and  feel  tliem,  "  and  they  do  smell  so  fresh  and  — 
and  —  woody  —  0,1  'd  like  to  see  the  country  again  ! " 
And  Harry's  longing  eyes  seemed  looking  straight 
through  the  walls  of  their  attic  room,  over  the  broad, 
slow  river,  to  where  cool,  flickering  breezes  toyed  with 
innumerable  merry  green  leaves,  and  nobody  talked  but 
the  squirrels  and  crickets. 

"  Shall  I  bring  ^'our  knife?  "  cried  Nora,  joj-fuUy. 


158  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COUKT. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  try  what  I  can  do,  but  I  can  never  cut  so 
smooth  as  this  is,  you  know.     This  is  machine  work." 

"  IIow  do  3'ou  know?" 

"  Because  I  know  no  knife  could  cut  it  so  smoothly, 
and  no  hand  so  true  and  even.  It  is  n't  such  figures  as 
these  that  I  want  to  make,  but  lace-work  patterns,  or 
leaves  and  vines,  like  those  we  find  in  the  woods.  God 
does  not  try  to  make  his  tree-trunks  and  his  vine-stems 
all  polished  olT  smooth.  lie  likes  the  roughness,  and 
the  room  to  grow  and  change.  And  I  like  it  best,  too." 
And  with  the  words  Ilarrj'  drew  a  long  sigh. 

All  the  last  week  he  ha  1  been  longing  for  the  cool 
aiis  of  the  woods,  and  the  sweet,  still  life  of  the  coun- 
try. Perhaps  it  was  only  the  bitter  heat  of  his  attic 
room,  and  the  scorching  glare  of  sunshine  on  the  river 
reflected  upon  the  whitewashed  rafters  over  his  head. 
The  blinds  had  not  yet  come,  and  the  summer's  heat 
was  unabated.  Sometimes,  as  he  lay  there  alone,  the 
hot  roof  seemed  to  come  down  slowly  nearer  and  nearer 
to  his  flushed  face,  and  the  sun  filtei'ed  through  it,  as 
through  gauze.  Sometimes  he  wished  the  roof  and  walls 
were  torn  away.  It  would  be  cooler  out  in  the  sun's 
fiercest  rays,  where  a  breath  of  air  could  yet  play  unfet- 
tered. The  thin  roof  only  sifted  out  the  air  and  let  in 
all  the  heat.  Then  his  head  ached  all  the  time.  That 
was  the  heat,  too 

But  he  took  his  knife,  and  sat  up,  when  Nora  brougbi 


ONE   LESS.  159 

the  blocks.  Jemm}'  tumbled  the  contents  of  his  barrow 
into  a  corner,  when,  with  considerable  difficulty  and 
Nora's  help,  he  had  got  thein  up-stairs.  Then  the  two 
children  went  back  to  their  work,  and  Harry  was  again 
left  alone.  He  found  the  thinnest  piece  of  the  wood, 
and  sketching  with  pencil  the  vague  outline  of  a  vine 
upon  a  trellis,  he  began  to  carve.  It  was  hard  work. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  strength  in  his  slender  hands, 
and  his  arms  ached  to  his  shoulders  with  the  effort. 
He  had  to  stop  often  to  rest  them.  Still  he  toiled  on, 
sometimes  clasping  a  hand  over  his  forehead  where  the 
throbbing  pain  blinded  his  ej'cs,  and  blurred  the  del- 
icate tracery  of  his  pencil.  Busied  with  his  work,  and 
the  struggle  with  pain  and  weakness,  he  did  not  hear  a 
light  step  on  the  stairs,  till  Mr.  Salsby,  clad  all  in  the 
coolest  of  white  linen,  stood  within  the  room. 

"  No  blinds  3'et !  "  were  his  first  words  "  I  '11  go 
down  and  see  Mr.  Jenks  at  once  ;  it  is  two  daj'S  since 
the}'  were  to  be  put  up.     So  you  are  alone  to-day.'' 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Harr}',  with  a  glad  smile,  "  I  'most 
alwa3s  am.    The}'  have  to  go  away  to  work,  you  know." 

"  And  are  you  better  to-day?  " 

"  I  guess  so,  but  —  it's  so  hot.  you  see,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  terrible  !  "  replied  Mr.  Salsby,  glancing  frown- 
ingly  at  the  windows.     "  And  30U  are  not  so  well?  " 

"  My  head  aches  more.  I  suppose  that 's  the  heat. 
And  my  eyes,  —  sometimes  I   can't  see.      I  've  been 


160  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

trying  to  work  a  little,  but  the  heat  has  taken  away  all 
my  strength." 

"  I  'ra  afraid  you  had  n't  much  to  begin  with,"  said 
the  landlord,  sadly.  "  What  do  you  want  to  make  you 
comfortable  ?  " 

"  I  should  like,  —  if  it  would  n't  be  too  much  trouble, 
sir,"  Harry  stammered,  "  for  you  to  pour  me  a  cup  of 
water.     There  's  some  in  the  pitcher." 

Mr.  Salsby  laughed,  and  went  with  alacrity.  The 
simplicity  of  the  request  seemed  out  of  all  comparison 
with  llarry's  hesitancy  about  asking  it. 

''  But  this  is  warm  water.  I  '11  get  some  fresher," 
said  Mr.  Salsby. 

"  O,  no  !  "  cried  Harry.  But  the  gentleman  was 
gone  ;  and  after  a  time  returned  with  not  only  cool 
water,  but  lemons  and  sugar,  from  which  he  com- 
pounded the  most  delicious  drink  Harry  had  ever 
tasted.  Then  Mr.  Salsby  proceeded  to  use  a  whole 
pailful  of  water  in  sprinkling  the  floor  of  the  room, 
till  it  mitigated  the  scorch  of  the  air,  and  seemed 
even  to  excite  faint  breezes  through  the  windows  and 
door. 

"  ;Now  I  am  going  to  send  up  those  blinds,"  said 
the  landlord,  gayly,  with  a  very  bright  and  happy 
smile  on  his  handsome  face.  "  And  I  shall  come 
again  early  to-morrow  morning,  to  see  if  they  are 
here.     I  hope  you  will  be  feeling  better  by  that  time. 


ONE   LESS.  161 

Good-bye."   And  he  shook  hands  with  Harry  as  he  went 
away. 

But  the  smile,  so  gay  and  happy,  died  away,  as  he  felt 
the  feverish  heat  of  that  tiny  palm,  and  saw  the  painful 
gaze  of  the  blue  eyes,  dull  and  hazy  with  suffering. 
He  did  order  the  blinds  ;  and  so  peremptorily,  that 
the}'  were,  with  much  noise  and  clatter  in  the  Canton 
household,  put  on  early  the  next  morning.  He  did 
more ;  for  bsfore  visiting  his  tenants  next  day,  he 
secured  the  compan}'  of  a  doctor,  who  was  to  see 
what  could  be  done  for  little  crippled  Harr}',  and  give 
him  an}'  relief  possible.  The  patient,  feeble,  suffering 
little  fellow  woke  a  great  interest  in  the  kind  landlord's 
heart.  Such  a  child  was  hardly  fit  for  this  world,  and 
could  not  long  inhabit  it ;  but  Avhatever  could  be  done 
by  science  and  care  to  make  comfortable  and  easy  his 
short  sta}',  Mortimer  Salsby  resolved  should  bo  done 
for  little  Harry  Canton.  To  separate  him  from  his 
brothers  and  si.ster,  he  saw  would  be  only  the  crudest 
kindness.  Whatever  was  done  must  be  done  without 
breaking  the  little  family  that  clung  together  so  strong- 
ly, now'  th-.it  only  the  orphaned  little  ones  remained. 
But  a  better  tenement  c  juld  certainly  be  found  for  them, 
better  work  for  Bess,  perhaps  ;  and  many  delicacies  for 
a  sick  child's  appetite,  and  many  hints  for  care  and 
nursing  from  a  doctor's  knowledge  and  skill,  his  purse 
could  Buppl}'.  There  were  many  calls  on  the  time  and 
11 


1G2  THE    CniLDREX    OF    A>nTT    COURT. 

attention  of  this  wealthy  young  Ian  llord,  but  he  did 
not  forget  Harry.  He  was  now,  for  tlie  first  time,  be- 
ginning to  feel  tlie  responsibility  involved  in  his  wide 
possessions,  and  by  personal  care  an  1  interest  for  his 
tenants  he  was  trying  to  faithfully  serve  in  the  stew- 
ardship of  wealth. 

One  by  one  the  children  came  home  for  their  dinner, 
till  all  but  Tom,  who  never  came  at  noon,  were  gatlf 
ered  in  the  long  i-oora.  Then  Harry  told  about  his 
visitor,  and  all  were  pleased  and  grateful  for  his  kind- 
ness, and  delighted  with  the  sprinkled  fliwr,  which  had 
done  much  to  relieve  the  oppressive,  smothering  heat 
of  the  place  Even  Xed  felt  convinced  now  that  the 
blinds  would  be  soon  hung,  and  the  room  screened 
from  the  sun's  glare.  The}'^  brought  more  water  and 
again  drenched  the  dr3-ing  boards,  while  Bess  rocked 
Harry  in  her  loving  arms  as  long  as  she  could  stay 
from  the  "  evening  trade." 

"  I  '11  go  down  for  the  new  editions  now."  sai  I  Ned, 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  lunch  and  brought  more 
water.  Nora  an  1  Jemmj'  were  splashing  the  floor,  and 
finding  great  fun  in  the  operation.  "  Don't  fail  to  meet 
mo  half  an  hour  hence."  And  Ned  scampered  down  the 
stairs  and  was  gone. 

'  How  cool  and  fresh  it  seems ! "  said  Bess,  as  the 
damp  floor  began  to  steam. 

'•  I  wish  I  had  some  on  my  face  and  hands,"  said 
Harry. 


ONE   LESS.  163 

'•  Why,  so  you  shall,"  cried  Bess  ;  and  soon  she  was 
bathing  tenderly  the  hot  checks  and  burning  palms. 

But  the  half  hour  was  soon  over,  and  all  three  must 
go  to  meet  Netl  Harry"  was  laid  lovingly  back  on  his 
couch,  and  left  once  more  alone  Jn  the  long,  low,  tire- 
some attic. 

Next  morning  the  Cantons  were  later  than  usual  in 
starting  for  the  day's  work.  The  excitement  of  Mr. 
Jenks'  appearance  with  two  men  and  a  set  of  window- 
blinds  delayed  them.  The  blinds  were  nicely  painted 
a  cool  green,  and  after  considerable  tramping  and  talk- 
ing, sorting  of  hinges  and  driving  of  screws,  they  were 
finally  hung  and  the  room  pleasantly  darkened  by  them. 
The  mellow  light  was  sweetly  refreshing  to  Harry's 
dazzled,  aching  eyes.  When  the  floor  was  brushed 
clean  of  dusty  footprints  from  the  departed  workmen, 
and  once  more  freshly  sprinkled,  there  was  an  air  of 
shady  comfort  in  the  room,  to  which  it  had  long  been  a 
stranger.  Nora  and  Jemni}^  hastened  away  to  meet 
Ned,  after  the  sprinkling  was  ended  This  exercise 
had  at  once  become  their  mo3t  delightful  recreation. 
Bess  shook  out  the  coverlet  of  the  cot,  and  took  up 
Harry  for  the  accus-omed  rocking. 

It  was  while  lio  sat  wcaril}'  i:i  the  rocker  alone,  and 
Bess  was  preparing  the  bed,  that  Mr.  Salsby  and 
another  gentleman  came  gently  up  and  knocked  at  the 
half-open   door.     Mr,    Salsby   carried  a  large  bundle, 


164  THE    CHILDREN    OK    AMITT    COURT. 

which  he  at  once  deposited  on  the  table,  and  then  re- 
turning, inquired  earnestly  and  kindly  for  Harry's 
health.  The  morning  was  just  as  warm  as  had  Tieen 
every  one  for  many  days  past.  But  Harry  thought  the 
changes  in  the  room  had  eased  his  head  and  he  should  be 
quite  well  if  he  were  onl}'  a  little  stronger.  I'ess  came 
and  took  him  back  to  the  bed,  where  sitting  up  against 
the  pillows  he  was  more  like  "  other  folks,"  as  she 
always  wished  him  to  appear. 

"  Tliis  looks  more  as  it  ought,"  said  Mr.  Salsby, 
glancing  about,  and  observing  that  his  device  of 
sprinkling  had  been  caught  up  and  followed  by  the 
children. 

"  The  blinds  make  it  very  pleasant,"  said  Bess ; 
"  and  it  seems  a  great  deal  cooler." 

"But  it  is7i7,  much,"  replied  Mr.  Salsb}-,  with  a 
laugh.  He  said  no  more,  for  he  had  not  yet  found  a 
suitable  place  to  which  to  move  the  children ;  and, 
until  he  should  find  that,  it  was  worse  than  useless  to 
encourage  discontent  with  their  present  home. 

Meanwhile  the  strange  gentleman  was  regarding 
Harrj'  with  glances  of  keen  inquiry,  but  he  said 
nothing  to  him  until  Mr.  Salsby  should  open  the 
way. 

"  Yesterda}',"  the  landlord  said,  "  I  found  Harry 
alone,  and  he  seemed  in  so  much  pain  and  distress, 
that  I  have  brought  this  gentleman.  Dr.  Menchen,  to 


ONE    LESS.  155 

see  him  to-day,  hoping  he  can  tell  us  something  else 
to  do  to  make  him  more  comfortable  and  happy." 

"O,  you  don't  think  — it 's  very  kind  of  you,  sir  — 
but  you  don't  think  Harry  is  sick,  do  you?"  cried  Bess. 

"  I  hope  not,"  replied  Mr.  Salsby,  soothingly  ;  "  but 
he  has  suffered  more  than  he  would  tell  from  the  heat." 

"  I  'm  so  sorry  !  "  murmured  Bess. 

"But  I'm  better  to-day,"  Harry  said,  flushing  up 
painfull}',  as  the  doctor  came  to  the  bedside  and  took 
his  wrist  gently  in  his  professional  Augers. 

"  Do  you  have  much  appetite  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Menchen. 

"  Sometimes,"  replied  Harry,  indefinitely. 

"  He  never  cats  much,"  said  Bess.  ''  And  he  hsis 
not  wanted  anything  at  all  for  three  days  back ;  but 
I  made  him  eat,  just  to  please  me  ;  for  I  knew  he 
would  get  so  weak  if  he  didn't." 

Mr.  Salsb}-  went  to  his  bundle  on  the  table,  and 
opening  it,  produced  tempting  oranges,  bananas,  and 
a  pineapple. 

"  Will  something  of  this  sort  bring  an  appetite?  "  he 
asked,  offering  one  of  the  fairest  oranges. 

Harry's  face  brightened. 

"  O,  yes  !  "  he  answered. 

Mr.  Salsbj'  deftly  prepared  it,  rolling  it  first  in  his 
hands,  then  cutting  out  with  the  point  of  a  knife  a 
small  round  hole  at  the  top,  where  Harry's  lips  were 
soon  busy  applying  the  powers  of  suction. 


166  THE    CniLDRKX    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

The  doctor  sat  b}'  looking  on,  now  and  then  asking 
a  few  raox'e  questions.  But  his  presence  did  not  inter- 
fere with  Harry's  pleasure  in  the  orange,  nor  with 
Bess's  delight  in  seeing  him  eat  it. 

"  It  is  so  ver}'  good  of  you,  sir,  to  bring  him  fruit," 
said  Bess,  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes.  "  We  can 
never  than'c  j'ou  enough." 

"  Don't  tr}',"  said  the  landlord,  gravely  ;  and,  rising, 
he  walked  away  to  the  window.  He  could  not  forget  the 
story  of  the  poor  mother  of  these  children,  shivering 
her  feeble  life  out  in  this  cold  garret,  while  he  was 
awa}'  pleasuring  among  his  friends  at  the  West,  whom 
d  little  care  and  oversight  of  his  houses  would  per- 
haps have  saved  to  them  for  many  years. 

"You  don't  think  him  sick,  do  you.  Doctor?"  Bess 
asked  of  the  ph3'sician. 

'  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  little  woman,"  the  doctor 
replied,  looking  kiudl3^  into  her  face,  "  and  it  is  not  so 
very  bad  after  all.  He  seems  to  me  to  have  the  scarlet 
fever.     Has  he  been  exposed  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure.   Jso,  —  have  you,  Harr}'  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  know  —  unless,  —  do  you  suppose  Meg 
had  scarlet  fever?     She  was  sick,  you  know." 

Bess  grew  pale,  and  looked  up  anxiously  in  the 
doctor's  face. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Dr.  Menchen,  cheerily.  "  Eveiy- 
body  has  scarlet  fever  once,  and  then  it's  over  with. 


ONE    LESS.  167 

"We  will  try  and  bring  him  safely  through  it,  and  per- 
haps afterwards  we  can  find  something  else  to  do  for 
him.     We  will  try  " 

Bess  was  cheered,  and  even  Harry  smiled,  though 
the  tears  dimmed  his  eyes,  and  his  lips  twitched  bitterly. 

"  I  'm  always  siciv  and  good  for  nothing  !  "  he  said, 
witli  choking  voice. 

"  O,  Harry  !  "  sobbed  Bess. 

"  I  'm  Sony,"  Ilarry  said,  repentantly. 

It  was  liis  one  only  complaint.  He  had  never  spoken 
of  his  headache  and  weariness.  And  afterward  he  only 
lay  quite  still,  enduring,  but  never  murmuring  at  the 
suffering  that  must  be  borne. 

Dr.  Menchen  gave  directions,  and  wrote  a  prescrip- 
tion, which  INIr.  Salsby  afterwards  had  put  up,  and  him- 
self brought  to  the  sick  child  and  administered  his 
first  dose.  The  gentlemen  went  away,  both  promising 
to  come  again  next  day.  lless  went  out  to  lier  duty  of 
selling  newspapers,  witli  slow  step,  hating  the  work,  and 
longing  to  stay  by  Harry's  bedside.  But  the  work 
must  be  done,  or  the  family  purse  Avould  bj  quite  too 
low  for  the  family  expenses. 

Bess  had  been  able  to  relieve  the  doctor's  anxiety 
somewhat  by  telling  him  that  the  older  children  lia  I  all 
been  through  the  scarlet  fever  man^'  years  ago,  when 
Harry,  a  puny,  sickly  baby  was  carefully  screened 
from  taking  it.     But  as  she  went  djwu  tha  avenue   she 


168  THE    CHILDREN    OF   AMITY  COURT. 

remembered  Xora  and  Jemmy.  "What  should  be  done 
with  them?  And  was  it  not  already  too  late  to  do 
anything  ?  for  they  must  already  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  taking  the  fever.  She  saw  Nora  at  her  post, 
and  going  to  her,  said,  — 

"  There's  been  a  doctor  to  sec  Ilarry.  The  landlord 
brought  him.  And  he  sa3-s  Ilarry  is^  going  to  have  the 
scarlet  fever." 

Nora  looked  up  earnestlj'^  in  Bess's  grave  face,  and 
said, — 

"Is  he  much  sick?  Jemmj'  and  I  had  it,  a  wliile 
ago,  —  last  summer,  I  think, — and  we  were  scarcely 
sick  abed  at  all." 

"  Then  3'ou  have  had  it !  "  exclaimed  Bess,  xnth.  great 
relief. 

"  Yes,  we  've  had  it,"  jeplied  Nora. 

"  It  was  you  aud  Jemmy  that  made  me  anxious.  All 
of  us  have  had  it.  But  Ilarry  was  verj'  little  then,  and 
was  kept  away  from  us  so  he  need  not  take  it." 

"  Is  he  much  sick? "  asked  Nora  again. 

"  lie  does  not  seem 'so,  now.  I  thought  nothing  but 
the  heat  ailed  him.  Ilarry  thinks  he  took  it  of '  Amity 
Meg'" 

*'  Jemmy  says  the  Crowley  baby  is  sick.  I  guess 
that's  the  fever,  too,"  said  Nora. 

Bess  sold  papers  with  heavy,  anxious  heart  that 
day,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  crowd  thinning  and 


ONE   LESS.  169 

the  best  of  the  day  over,  she  hastened  back  to  the  little 
boy  at  home. 

Harry  looked  brightly  up  to  greet  her ;  but  lii.,  face 
was  burning,  his  ej'es  drooped  quickly  into  a  du'l,  un- 
seeing languor,  and  his  faint  breath  was  shprt  and- 
quick,  between  his  jjarched  lips.  lie  had  not  eaten  the 
oranges  or  bananas  Bess  left  beside  his  bed  within 
reach.  lie  said  he  was  bettor,  his  head  did  not  ache 
so  sharply,  and  was  only  dull  and  heavy  ;  "  getting 
well,"  he  called  it.  He  took  one  or  two  sips  of  the 
fresh  orange  Bess  offered,  but  seemed  too  languid  to 
raise  it  himself  to  his  lips,  and  only  lay  very  quiet,  witli 
always  a  reassuring  smile  when  Bess  bent  tenderly  to 
look  into  his  face,  and  the  cheery  answer,  "  getting 
bettor,  getting  quite  well,"  for  every  anxious  question. 

Both  Mr.  Salsby  and  the  doctor  came,  next  da3% 
They  said  little  ;  there  was  little  to  be  said  or  done. 

"  The  fever  must  run,"  Dr.  Menchen  told  Bess,  "  and 
it  is  already  some  days  along.  lie  has  been  more  ill 
than  you  knew.  But  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  make 
him  comfortable,  and  hope  it  may  be  a  light  run.  That 
is  all  we  can  do." 

Bos.s  sta^'cd  at  l;om3  after  that,  and  waited  on  Harry 
with  everj'thing  her  loving  heart  could  devise  for  his  ease 
and  comfort.  Harry  thanked  her  with  a  smile,  but  he 
seldom  spoke.  It  seemed  too  much  exertion.  All  day 
long  he  hi}^  motionless  a:ul  silent,  with  sometimes  only  a 


170  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COtTUT. 

little,  very  little,  faint  fluttering  sigh.  He  took  the  orange 
juice  or  pineapple  syrup  that  Bess  brought  to  his  lips,  and 
returned  the  same  patient,  grateful  smile.  But  the  light 
in  his  eyes  grew  more  rare,  and  his  smiles  more  faint. 

On  the  third  day  the  doctor  sat  long  by  his  side,  and 
when  lie  went  away  ?Jr.  Salsby  went  witli  hira.  Half 
an  hour  later  Mr.  Salsb^-^  looked  in  once  more.  Harry 
lay  just  as  before.  Tom  had  come  home,  and  was  sit- 
ting on  the  bed's  edge  gently  fanning  the  sultry  air 
about  the  little  sti.l  face.  Mr.  Salsby  beckoned  Bess 
aside,  and  asked,  hesitatingly,  — 

"  Shall  you  watch  with  him?  " 

"To-night?"  she  asked,  a  breathless  fear  stopping 
her  heart-beats  suddenly, 

"  Have  you  done  so?    Shall  you  to-night?" 

"  We  have  not  j^et.  We  sleep  so  near,  and  1  wake 
very  quickly.  It  would  be  easy  for  him  to  just  speak 
to  me,  and  I  shou.d  hear  and  come  at  once." 

"  Yes,  easy,  I  know  ;  but  he  might  not  do  it, —  might 
not  know  there  was  any  need." 

"  Is  there  any  need?"  asked  Bess. 

"  There  might  be.     But  we  cannot  tell." 

"  And  you  think  he  may  die?" 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  ]Mortimcr  Salsby,  gentl}'-,  "  and 
possible  not,  but  you  want  to  bo  forewarned.  You  do 
not  want,  if  it  should  come,  he  should  be  alone  to  bear 
the  dread  without  a  word  of  cheer." 


ONE   LESS.  171 

"Must  I  tell  him?"  whispered  Bess,  her  fiice 
bowed  in  her  hands,  but  every  sound  stifled  lest  it  reach 
other  ears. 

"  You  know  him  best.     Which  would  he  prefer?  " 

Bess  stood  silent  and  trembling. 

"Shall  I  come  in,  by  and  by,  later  in  tlie  evening, 
and  stay  with  3'ou  a  part  of  the  night?" 

"  If  3'OU  would  —  "  Bess  murmured,  wiping  the  tears 
from  her  face,  and  preparing  to  take  her  place  again  by 
Harry's  bed.  "  Will  you  please,  sir,  take  Tom  down- 
stairs and  tell  him  ?  " 

« If  you  wish." 

"  I  can't,  for  we  can't  both  leave  Harry.  Tell  Ned 
and  Tom  both,  please." 

Down  by  the  silent  river,  Mortimer  Salsby  told  the 
boys  that  their  little  crippled  brotlier  perhaps  was  dying, 
—  might  not  live  to  see  another  morning  ;  xip-stairs,  Nora 
and  Jemmy  went  quietly  asleep  as  usual ;  Bess  sat  alone 
as  watcher  bj-  Ilarrj^'s  side.  The  boys  came  back.  Ned 
lay  down  to  sleep,  after  a  very  loving  and  tender  good- 
night. Only  Tom  and  Bess  sat  in  the  long,  low  garret 
where  one  feeble  candle,  placed  upon  the  floor,  cast  un- 
natural shadows  rather  than  gave  light.  At  half-past  ten 
Mr.  Salsby  softly  entered.  He  bowed  silently,  glanced 
at  the  bed  and  at  the  two  sad-faced  watchers,  and  asked 
no  question,  spoke  no  word,  but  sat  down  by  one  of  the 
front  windows  and  remained  there,  motionless  as  the  rest. 


172  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

An  hour  later  Harry  moved.     Bess  was  beside  him, 
and  Tom  came  also. 

"  What  is  it?  "  Harry  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  What  is  what?"  returned  Tom. 

"  Something  strange,"  he  murmured,  "  3^ou  don't  go 
to  bed.  The  candle  's  on  the  floor.  There 's  some  one 
over  there  b}'  the  window.     Who  is  it  ? 

"  It  is  the  kind  landlord,  at  the  window,"  whispered 
Bess.  "  lie  came  in  to  see  how  you  are.  And  Tom 
and  I  are  sitting  up." 

"  For  me? "  he  asked,  quickly. 

*'  Why,  yes,  for  a  while,"  Bess  answered. 

"  It  is  just  as  3'ou  did  for  mother,"  Harry  said, 
thoughtfully.     "  Am  I  so  sick?  " 

"  Not  so  sick  as  mother  was,  we  hope,"  Tom  replied, 
quickly. 

"  Bess  !  "  —  HaiTy  turned  his  faint  eyes  full  on  Bess's 
face,  —  "  is  it,  perhaps,  dying?  " 

Bess  smoothed  the  bright  rings  from  off  his  temples, 
and  could  not  answer. 

'•  Tell  me,  Bess,"  he  pleaded. 
!     "Per — haps,"  she  whispered,  slowly. 

The  bright  smile  that  had  been  for  days  almost  a 
stranger  to  Harry's  f.ice  came  suddenly  back.  He 
heaved  a  little  sigh  and  whispered,  — 

"  Don't  be  sorry,  Bess.  Tom  ;  don't  an}"^  of  you  —  foi 
I  'm  so  glad  !     Father  and  mother  are  waiting  for  me, 


ONE    LESS.  173 

and  it  will  be  so  much  happier  than  lying  here  any 
longer." 

Bess  kissed  his  forehead,  and  the  tears  fell  on  his 
face. 

"  O,  don't !  "  he  begged. 

Tom  knelt  by  the  bed  and  laid  his  cheek  on  Harry's 
hand.     Long  they  lingered  silent'y. 

At  last  Harry  sighed  faintly.  He  was  weary.  Tom 
and  Bess  shook  the  pillows,  placed  him  gently  on  them, 
and  went  back  to  their  sad,  breathless  watching. 

Hours  passed.  Often  tliey  looked,  to  be  quite  sure 
that  fcc])le  breath  still  flickered  to  and  fro  across  the 
parted  lips.  The  gray  of  morning  was  dimming  the 
candle's  shadows,  when  the  long  watch  ended.  Mr. 
Salsby  rose  and  came  to  the  bedside.  The  fixed  half- 
open  eyes  saw  nothing  ;  the  nerveless  hands  were  cold  ; 
and  no  more  the  life-breath  floated  through  the  peaceful, 
smiling  lips. 

Just  when  it  was,  not  one  of  them  could  tell ;  but 
Harry's  soul  had  passed  away  to  join  his  waiting 
parents  in  tliat  new  world,  where  weariness  and  life- 
long trouble  cease,  and  our  best  life  begins  afresh. 


174  THE   CHILDREN   OP   AMITY   COURT. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


LOUIS    LEGRANGE. 


THE  sitting-room  was  small,  with  only  two  back 
windows ;  but  it  was  not  only  neat  and  clean,  it 
was  also  cheery  and  tasteful,  though  few  ornaments 
were  afforded  . 

There  was  little  of  the  habitual  worship  of  comfort  so 
common  in  American  homes.  No  rocking-chair,  no 
lounge,  not  even  an  easy-chair  was  to  be  seen.  Hut  a 
few  straight-backed,  slender-framed  seats,  with  cush- 
ions of  blue  damask,  were  placed  here  and  there,  in 
convenient  carelessness.  The  carpet,  though  worn  and 
faded,  was  of  a  soft,  brown  shade  that  harmonized  well 
with  the  chairs.  Some  boolvs  were  in  a  little  case  on 
the  wall.  The  table  was  heaped  with  sewing,  beneath 
which  peeped  corners  of  newspapers.  It  was  hard  to 
ti'U  the  station  of  tlie  occupants,  by  the  furnishing  of 
the  room.  So  many  things  were  wanting  that  are 
deemed  first  necessities,  and  so  many  things  were  there 
that  the  poor  seldom  have. 


LOUIS    LEGRANGE,  175 

Off  the  little  sitting-room  opened  a  bed-chamber 
scarcely  larger  than  a  closet,  but  it  held  a  bed  and  toilet 
bureau.     The  wardrobe  stood  in  the  sitting-room. 

It  was  afternoon.  The  early  sun  had  long  since  left 
these  east  windows.  One  blind  was  abeady  open  a 
crack  to  give  light  to  the  footprints  of  a  hurrying  nee- 
dle. A  lady  sat  by  the  window  very  busy  at  her  work. 
It  was  a  brilliant  stuff,  and  her  needle  set  fine  stitches 
of  gay  embroidery,  such  as  only  deft  and  delicate  fin- 
gers, guided  by  an  artisi's  eye  and  judgment,  could  pro- 
duce. The  lady  was  neither  old  nor  young  To-day, 
as  her  head  bent  more  earnestly  over  the  work,  and  lit- 
tle wrinkles  of  troubled  thought  gathered  on  her  smooth, 
clear  brow,  she  was  older  than  her  wont.  But  her  face 
could  brighten  quickly  into  youth,  and  her  trim,  alert 
figure,  her  cheery,  heartsome  ways,  gave  a  merry,  almost 
girlish,  appearance  to  a  woman  already  past  the  half- 
wa}'  stage  of  life. 

There  was  a  rustle  from  the  little  bedroom,  and  out 
through  its  half-open  door  came  a  pale,  slight  boy  of 
about  thirteen.  He  moved  languidly,  and  soon  sat  down 
near  his  mother. 

"  Do  you  feel  like  sitting  up  awhile  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
LeG range,  with  a  glance  of  loving  welcome. 

"  I  am  much  stronger  to-day,"  replied  Louis,  bravely. 

''  I  think  you  do  look  better." 

"  And  I  want  to  go  down  to  the  office." 


17G  THE    CUILDREN   OP    AMITY   COURT. 

"  Not  to-day." 

"  Yes,  to-day.     I  am  so  afraid  Cobden  &  Co.  will 
put  another  boy  in  my  place." 

"  Did  n't  the  gentleman   say  he  would  keep  it  for 


you 


p" 


"  0, 3'es,  for  a  day  or  two.  But  now  it  is  three  weeks 
or  more,  and  he  cannot  keep  it  much  longer.  Let  me 
go  to-day.  mother  dear ;  I  '11  not  hz  gone  long." 

"  You  have  not  j'et  eaten  an^'thing  suflSciently 
strengthening  for  such  a  walk.  "Wait  till  to-morrow, 
and  I  will  have  a  bit  of  nice  beefsteak  for  your  break- 
fast, and  then  perhaps  you  can  find  strength  for  it  " 

Louis  was  silent,  and  acquiesced  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  if  I  lose  my  place," 
he  said,  some  minutes  later,  resting  his  elbows  on  the 
table's  edge. 

"  But  3'ou  won't  lose  it,"  returned  his  mother,  cheerily. 
*'  And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  my  letter  said." 

"  Your  letter  ;  have  3'ou  had  a  letter?" 

"  Yes  ;  there  was  one  this  morning  from  your  Uncle 
Victor.  He  is  coming  to  America  by  the  next  steamer ; 
he  ma^'  bo  here  almost  as  soon  as  his  letter." 

"  O,  mother,  will  he  help  us?" 

"It  will  be  a  great  blessing  to  have  him  near  us,  for 
counsel  and  sympathy  at  least.  If  you  lose  your  place, 
he  may  know  what  to  advise,  in  order  to  get  another. 
But  since  the  failm'e  that  was  marked  in  the  last  French 


LOUIS   LEGKANGE.  177 

paper,  he  must  be  as  poor  as  we,  and  can  never  take 
j-ou  into  business  like  his  son,  as  used  to  be  our  hope." 

"  What  else  did  the  letter  say?" 

"Nothing.  It  was  evidently  written  just  in  the 
hurry  and  excitement  of  starting." 

Louis  went  back,  and  lay  down  in  the  little  bedroom. 
He  did  not  yet  sit  up  all  day,  though  the  fever  had 
passed  away  after  only  a  slight  attack.  He  was  not  a 
robust  bo}' ;  perhaps  for  that  reason  sickness  dealt 
lightly  with  him. 

Soon  he  heard  his  mother's  light  steps  moving  briskly 
about,  and  before  many  minutes  she  called  him. 

"  Do  you  feel  like  coming  to  tea,  Louis?  " 

He  came  directly,  and  took  the  chair  beside  the  little 
tea-tray,  where  was  set  out  their  delicate  though  frugal 
supper. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of 
the  room,  and  instantly  thereupon  it  was  opened,  and 
an  unmistakably  Irish  voice,  proceeding  from  the  out- 
side chaos  of  a  dark  entry,  said :  — 

''  There's  a  gintleman  down-stairs  inquiring  for  Mrs. 
LeG  range ;  will  he  walk  up  ?  " 

"  Did  he  send  his  card?  " 

"  An'  he  did  n't,  thin  ;  but  he  said  as  his  name  was 
LeGrange,  too,  I  'm  thinking." 

Mrs.  LeGrange  brushed  past  Bridget  in  the  entry, 
and  hastened  down  the  stall's.  In  tlie  hall  stood  a  man 
12 


178  THE  cni:.DRE>f  of  amity  court. 

of  very  foreign  appearance,  whom  she  greeted  with  a 
gentle,  airy  cordiality,  and  at  once  invited  np  to  the  lit- 
tle sitting-room.  There  Loui?  was  quick  to  recognize 
the  Uncle  Victor  whom  he  had  found  so  kind  a  friend 
five  3'cars  ago,  when  they  passed  the  last  year  of  his 
father's  life  in  France. 

"  But  jon  are  changed,  3'ou  are  ill,"  said  the  lady, 
gazing  anxiousl}''  at  the  pale,  drawn  face  displayed  in 
the  clearer  light  of  her  little  parlor. 

"  It  was  a  rough  vo3'age,"  he  replied.  "  I  have 
suffered  much  on  the  way,  and  am  not  yet  myself,  I 
find."    And  he  leaned  a  heaA'y  elbow  upon  the  table. 

"  Go  and  lie  down  on  Louis's  bed  while  I  pour  3'ou 
a  cup  of  tea ;  that  will  refresh  and  revive  3'OU.  Go, 
that 's  a  good  brother,  and  I  '11  soon  nurse  3'oa  back  to 
your  health." 

"  I  thought  I  should  be  all  right  when  once  I  was  on 
land  again,"  he  said,  as  the  white  spasm  again  crossed 
his  face  ;  and,  rising,  he  followed  Mrs.  LeGrange  to  the 
bedroom,  and  submitted  to  be  treated  as  an  invalid. 

Louis  brought  the  tea,  and  his  uncle  tasted  it ;  but 
he  could  not  eat  the  delicate  bit  of  supper  that  accom- 
panied it.  He  was  too  ill  to  talk  ;  and  the  many  ques- 
tions Mrs.  LeGrange  longed  to  ask  were  silenced,  and 
postponed  till  a  better  day.  But  the  next  day  saw  him 
no  better,  nor  man3'  after  it. 

Louis  LeGrange  went  to  see  Cobden  &.  Co.,  in  the 


LOUIS   LEGRAK6E.  179 

faint  hopo  that  the  place  he  had  vacated  abruptly  when 
his  sudden  sickness  prostrated  him,  might  be  yet  open 
to  him.  Mr.  Saunders  had  promised  to  keep  it  for 
hira  in  case  of  his  absence  from  sickness,  but  then  that 
was  for  occasional  daA's  ;  and  this  absence  had  been  for 
weeks.  He  was  not  so  much  surprised,  as  discouraged, 
on  entering  the  warehouse,  to  find  Tom  Canton  em- 
ployed at  what  had  formerl}'  been  his  work. 

Tom  was  sweeping  the  outer  office  when  Louis 
appeared.  INIr.  Saunders  and  the  firm  had  not  yet  come 
in.  The  two  clerks  were  opening  their  desks,  and 
arranging  books  and  papers  for  the  day's  work. 

"  So  you  are  here  ?  "  said  Louis  LeGrange,  stopping 
in  the  doorwaj'. 

"  Yes,  and  you  are  come  back  for  your  place  ? " 
returned  Tom,  dubiously. 

The  two  boys  stoo«l  for  a  moment  regarding  each 
other.  It  was  rather  an  awkward  meeting.  Louis  was 
bitterl}'  disappointed  at  losing  his  position,  and  Tom 
felt  as  if  he  ought  to  relinquish  it  to  him,  yet  knew  not 
what  else  to  do  himself. 

"  Wait  a  minute  till  I  've  done  sweeping,"  Tom  said. 
When  it  was  finished,  Tom  came  and  stood  by  Louis. 
"  Have  3^ou  been  sick?"  he  asked,  noting  the  pale  face 
and  thin  hands. 

"Yes.  I  have  just  come  out  for  the  first  time.  How 
long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 


l'~50  TIIK    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

"  Three  or  four  weeks.  I  happened  to  come  in  the 
very  first  clay  you  were  absent." 

"And  you  were  engaged  at  once?"  Louis  asked, 
reproachfully. 

"  I  was  told  to  come  the  next  day,  —  Mr.  Cobden 
engaged  me  ;  Mr.  Saunders  did  not  seem  to  like  it ;  I 
don't  think  he  has  ever  been  pleased  to  have  me  here  " 

Louis  looked  a  little  relieved.  "  IMr.  Saunders  prom- 
ised to  keep  the  place  for  me,"  he  explained,  "  and  so 
I  had  hoped  he  would." 

"  O,  he  did  try  to,"  exclaimed  Tom,  in  his  turn 
relieved  with  the  idea  that  Mr.  Saunders  was  actuated 
by  no  dislike  or  aversion  for  himself.  "  He  said  all  he 
could  for  you,  but  Mr.  Cobden  would  have  me  come." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  for  you,"  Louis  said  kindly,  though 
sadl3\  "  It  is  a  good  place.  Mr.  Saunders  is  a  little 
queer  sometimes,  but  if  3'ou  do  just  as  he  says  and  ask 
no  questions,  he  will  like  yon  and  be  kind  to  you." 

"  I  have  never  thought  he  liked  me,"  Tom  said,  look- 
ing inquiringly  down  into  Louis's  face. 

Louis  was  not  only  two  or  three  years  younger  than 
Tom,  but  also  a  great  deal  smaller.  His  delicacy  and 
child-like  appearance  were  only  the  more  noticeable 
beside  Tom's  stalwart  growth  and  manly  air,  as  he 
returned  a  wondering  look  to  Tom's  glance. 

'•  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Louis  said.  "  Has  he  ever 
scolded  you?" 


LOUIS    LEGRANGE.  181 

"  No,"  replied  Tom. 

"  Then  you  must  be  mistaken,"  Louis  said,  as  he  rose 
to  go.     "  There  's  no  use  in  my  waiting." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Tom.  "  I  'm  only  on  trial.  They  may 
want  to  have  3'ou  back  again." 

"  You  did  n't  tell  me  3'Ou  were  on  trial." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  know  it.  Here  comes  Mr. 
Saunders  already." 

Mr.  Saunders  entered  with  a  hurried,  absorbed  air, 
nodded  carelessly  to  the  clerks,  but  bestowed  no  notice 
on  Tom.  Seeing  Louis,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  pleas- 
antly : — 

"  So  3'ou  are  come  back  !  I  am  glad  of  that.  Been 
sick  all  this  time?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Louis,  timidly. 

"  We  've  had  a  boy  here  while  you  were  gone  ;  but 
you  '11  be  on  hand  now,  I  suppose  ?  "  ■ 

"  After  to-da\%  sir,  I  think  I  could,"  said  Louis  ;  "  but 
I  am  not  so  strong  yet  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  O,  never  mrnd  ;  we  can  favor  you  a  little  and  you  '11 
soon  come  right." 

Tom  liad  never  before  heard  Mr.  Saunders  speak 
so  cordially,  though  ho  was  sometimes  very  defer- 
ential and  polite  to  Mr.  Cobden.  He  wondered  what 
made  the  difference  between  himself  and  Louis,  and 
why  Mr.  Saunders  so  disliked  him  and  so  favored 
Louis. 


182  THE    CHILDREN   OF    AMITY   COURT. 

''Thank  3'ou,  sir,"  Louis  said.  "Shall  I  come  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  come  earlj',  and  have  everything  extra  neat 
and  tidy,  or  the  old  gentleman  may  not  be  glad  to  see 
you."  And  with  a  laugh  Mr.  Saunders  tiu'ned  to  his 
books. 

Louis  looked  longing]}'-  at  Tom,  and  lingered. 
"Please,  sir,  will  Tom  stay  too?"  he  asked,  loth  to 
take  his  own  good-fortune  at  Tom's  cost. 

"  Tom  ?  "  said  Mr.  Saunders.  "  No ;  his  time  will  be 
out  when  you  come  back.  He  only  came  while  you  were 
away." 

" TThat 's  that ?     What's  that?"  cried  a  testy  voice. 

Mr.  Saunders  turned  suddenly.  Old  Mr.  Cobden 
stood  in  the  doorway,  heated,  panting,  and  excited,  with 
a  very  red  face  and  a  very  purple  nose. 

"What's  that  about  Tom?  I  like  Tom.  He  stays 
here.  Who's  this?  Louis  LeGrange?  Where  have 
3'ou  been  all  this  time?  Why  don't  you  stick  to  busi- 
ness if  you  undertake  it?"  And  the  old  gentleman 
stopped,  quite  out  of  breath,  and  taking  off  his  broad- 
brimmed  summer  hat,  wiped  his  streaming  forehead 
with  a  large,  white  silk  handkerchief. 

Louis  was  evidently  very  much  afraid  of  old  Mr. 
Cobden.  lie  shrank  from  the  brusque,  explosive  talk 
that  Tom  overlooked  and  forgot  in  the  real  kind-hearted- 
ness that  lay  behind  it.  He  cast  down  his  eyes,  and 
spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  as  he  replied,  — 


LOUIS   LEGEANGB.  183 

"  I  hare  been  sick,  sir." 

"  Look  as  if  j'ou  were  now,"  was  the  rather  unsym- 
pathetic rejoinder.  "  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  lad,  but  Tom 
is  here  now,  and  he  has  done  well,  worked  stiddy  and 
faithful,  not  off  and  on  as  you  were,  and  Tom  stays. 
You  mast  look  out  for  some  other  place,  and  take  care 
to  fill  it  better  when  you  get  it." 

Mr.  Cobden  pas&ed  on  into  the  office  parlor.  Louis 
dropped  his  fa^e  ia  hh  hands,  and  the  tears  would  come. 
He  was  weak,  rxncT  had  borne  his  disappointment  bravely, 
but  the  harsh  Wi'-ds,  so  undeserved,  were  more  than  he 
could  endure.  The  tears  gi-ew  to  sobs,  and  he  sank 
back  in  the  f  hair  he  had  quitted  when  Mr.  Cobden 
addressed  Irm. 

Eveiy  one  was  silent.  The  scratching  of  the  clerks* 
pens  was  plainly  audible.  Tom  stood  with  pitying  face 
turned  to  Louis.  He  longed  to  go  and  comfort  him, 
and  would  have  done  so  l^d  he  not  been  seated  so  near 
Mr.  Saunders.  An  intense  mutual  antipathy  seemed 
growing  between  these  two.  Mr.  Saunders  sat  like  a 
statue  for  a  few  minutes  ;  then  taking  out  his  pocket- 
book,  he  extracted  therefrom  a  ten-dollar  bill,  and 
crumpling  it  in  his  hand,  returned  the  book  to  his 
pocket. 

"  Here,  Louis,  I  'm  sorry.  Take  this  to  last  till  j-ou 
get  a  new  place,  and  send  to  me  for  a  character  if  you 
like,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  he  tucked  the  bill  into  Louis's 


184  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

hand.     Then  he  returned  to  his  work,  and  did  not  again 
look  up. 

Louis  gazed  in  surprise  at  the  money,  and  profusely 
thanked  him.  Tom  thought  it  was  a  large  amount ; 
Mr.  Saunders  was  certainly  a  generous,  kind-hearted 
man. 

"  Good-b}',  Louis,"  Tom  said,  following  him  out  at 
the  door.  "  I  'in  glad  Mr.  Saunders  gave  you  that,  and 
I  wish  3'ou  had  j'our  place  again,  I  'in  sure,  since  j'ou 
suit  him  so  much  better  than  I  can.  I  hope  you  will 
soon  find  another  as  good.  It  will  be  a  great  help  to 
you  to  be  able  to  refer  to  him." 

"  Yes,  and  the  money  is  so  welcome  ;  for  mother  is 
almost  at  her  last  dollar,  and  Uncle  Victor  is  come  and 
is  very  sick.  I  don't  know  what  1  shall  do,  if  I  cannot 
soon  get  work." 

"  Come  and  tell  me,  when  you  do,"  said  Tom. 

"  If  I  can.  But  why  not^ome  and  sec  me  some 
time?  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  especially  if  I 
don't  get  work,  and  am  feeling  sad  and  discouraged." 

"So  I  will,"  Tom  answered,  heartily. 

Louis  told  him  where  he  lived,  and  the  two  lx)ys 
parted  kindly  at  the  door  of  the  building,  just  as  Mr. 
Waters  made  his  rather  tardy  appearance  for  the  day . 

Louis  walked  slowly  and  feebl}'  homeward.  lie  felt 
too  weak  to  hasten,  nor  did  the  .news  he  brought  have 
any  tendency  to  quicken  his  pace.     He  remembered 


LOUIS    I.EGRANGE.  185 

that  his  sickness  had  ah'eady  diminished  his  mother's 
slender  resources.  He  had  been  so  longing  for  the  time 
when  he  should  be  able  to  go  to  work  again  !  He  feared 
his  mother  often  worked  late  at  night.  He  thought  she 
looked  worn  and  Avcar3^  her  step  had  less  of  its  ac- 
customed spring,  her  talk  less  of  sparkle  and  merri- 
ment. Mother  is  getting  tired,  he  thought,  as  h3 
noted  the  forced  cheerfulness  after  he  had  told  her  his 
story. 

It  was  long  ere  he  found  work. 

The  pretty  embroidery  got  less  and  less  attention  for 
the  next  week  after  the  arrival  of  Louis's  uncle.  And 
in  the  moments  when  there  was  opportunity  for  it,  the 
tiny  care-wrinkles  came  more  tliickly  in  the  smooth 
forehead  of  the  little  hostees.  Where  she  had  looked 
for  aid,  for  strength,  and  counsel,  she  found  none ; 
but  only  a  care  she  hardly  dared  assume,  and  an  a  Ided 
burden  of  lalDor  and  expense  for  her  already  worn 
frame  and  almost  exhausted  purpe.  The  light  burned 
late  each  night  in  Mrs.  LeGrange's  parlor,  and  the  nim- 
ble little  needle  flew  fast  under  its  flickering  rays. 
Early  as  the  summer's  early  sunrise,  too,  was  that  busy 
bit  of  bright  steel  at  work.  Still  she  tried  bravely  to 
keep  cheerful.  AVhen  her  own  money  and  the  ten  dollars 
from  Mr.  Saunders  was  all  gone,  she  knew  not  what  to 
do.  But  as  her  blithe  needle  flew  and  her  busy  thoughts 
Icept  time  to  it,  she  remembered  the  sick  man's  pocket- 


186  THE    CHILDKEN    OF    AMITY    COUBX. 

book,  which  fell  upon  the  floor  one  day  as  she  was  about 
to  hang  up  his  coat  in  the  wardrobe. 

"  Victor,"  she  said,  timidly,  but  cheerily  still,  "  my 
money  is  all  gone.     Have  3'ou  any  ?  " 

From  beneath  his  pillow  he  drew  out  the  pocket-book, 
and  handed  it  to  her,  saj'ing,  faintly,  "  There 's  plenty." 

It  looked  plenty  certainly,  but  the  bills  seemed  all 
small  ones.  She  took  ten  dollars,  and  thankfully  re- 
turned the  book. 

"  When  that  '3  gone,  come  again,"'  he  said,  in  the  same 
husk}'^,  unnatural  voice  of  fever  and  pain. 

But  as  the  weeks  rolled  by,  Victor  LeGrange  began 
to  mend.  Slowly  the  wasting  of  disease  gave  place  to 
return  of  blooming  health.  And  the  small  bills  were 
not  quite  all  abstracted  from  the  pocket-book  he  so 
freely  ofTercd  for  the  family  use.  So  the  roses  began 
also  to  return  to  the  bright  face  of  Mrs.  LeGrange. 
Her  guest  could  sit  up,  and  tell  her  pleasant  tales  of 
his  travels,  and  his  hopes  for  the  new  life  in  America. 

"  Was  it  the  failure  that  decided  you  to  come  here?" 
she  asked,  one  day. 

"What  failure?" 

Mrs.  LeGrange  took  from  her  work-basket  a  tiny 
scrap  she  had  cut  from  the  paper,  that  annottnced  the 
failure  of  the  business  iu  which  she  well  knew  all 
his  property  had  been  placed. 

"  O,  no,"  he  answered,  carelessly  ;  "  but  I  had  luck 


LOUIS    LEGRANGE.  187 

there.  I  had  withdrawn  iu  order  to  come  here,  only 
one  week  before  the  failure." 

"And  3'ou  lost  nothing?"  exclaimed  the  little 
woman,  color  coming  and  going  brightly  in  her  cheeks, 
and  tears  welling  into  her  ej'es. 

"  I  lost  nothing,"  he  answered.  Then,  seeing  her 
silence  and  emotion,  he  added,  "'  Did  you  think  I  had 
come  here  a  ruined  man  ?  " 

"I  thought  —  I  did  think  3'ou  were  poor,  Victor, 
and  1  so  hated  to  be  using  your  money ;  but  I  could 
not  earn  enough  myself,  and  1  could  not  let  you  suffer 
while  you  had  plenty  to  provide  for  yourself." 

"  You  took  little  enough,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Victor 
LeGrange.  "  Some  time  we  must  make  a  truer  settle- 
ment."' 

So  it  happened  that  Louis  LeGrange  needed  no  more 
to  look  for  a  place.  His  uncle  was  already  engaged 
with  a  large  importing  house,  and  Louis,  under  his 
direction,  was  soon  emploj'ed  by  the  same  firm.  It  was 
easy  work,  too,  compared  with  that  for  Cobden  &  Co. 
Victor  LeGrange  took  a  quiet  house  in  a  pleasanter 
part  of  the  city,  and  Mrs.  LeGrange  made  it  a  very 
snug  and  prett}-  little  home.  So  it  was  that  when  Tom 
Canton  went  to  see  Louis  he  could  not  find  him ;  and 
Louis's  surprise,  delight,  and  excitement  at  the  new  and 
happy  turn  affairs  had  taken  for  him,  were  so  great, 
that  it  was  man}'  weeks  before  he  thought  to  go  and 
see  Tom. 


188  THE   CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


BEING    A    GIRL. 


BESS  still  sold  papers.  At  first  she  did  not  much 
mind  the  change  of  work,  rather  liked  being  out- 
of-doors,  seeing  so  many  people,  speaking  with  this 
and  that  customer,  thougli  it  was  only  a  word  about 
the  paper.  But  almost  every  one  asked  her  some 
question  if  only  to  hear  her  speak.  Sometimes  it 
was  "What  papers?"  sometimes  "Which  edition?" 
or  "What's  new  to-night?"  and  Bess  answered  al- 
ways with  simple  politeness,  and  a  clear  voice,  whose 
cheery  tones  reassured  herself  and  pleased  every 
one.  Still,  Tom  was  no  more  satisfied  with  her 
worlv  than  at  first.  Tie  would,  any  time,  have  hailed 
the  opportunit}'  for  some  more  quiet  emploj'ment,  but 
the  diiFiculty  was  to  find  any  which  she  could  attempt, 
and  still  remain  with  her  brothers.  For  some  time  the 
care  of  Harry  kept  her  at  home  many  hours  of  the  day, 
Ned  supplying  her  with  papers  or  taking  off  her  hands 
what  remained  unsold  when  she  needed  to  return  to 


BEING   A    GIRL.  189 

liim.  But  when  Harry's  sweet  face  was  forever  gone 
from  the  pillows  of  the  cot-bed  in  the  long,  low  attic, 
and  notliing  necessitated  going  home  from  morning  to 
night,  the  arrangements  of  the  Canton  children  Avere 
changed.  They  no  longer  came  together  for  the  noon- 
time. A  bun  or  a  doughnut- bought  and  eaten  in  the 
street  formed  their  lunch,  and  sufficed  them  till  night. 
Although  the  landlord  had  kindly  befriended  them  by 
attending  to  the  last  sad  duties  for  little  Harr}'',  and 
even  defraj-ed  the  chief  expenses,  yet  they  found  that, 
notwithstanding  the  flourishing  condition  of  the  news- 
paper trade,  and  the  large  force  of  their  number! 
therein  em[)loyed,  the  gains  were  hardly  equal  to  their 
expectations.  Ned  still  made  good  receipts  each  day. 
Nora  and  Jemmj'  brought  in  about  half  as  much  ;  but 
poor  Bess  found  her  little  sum  of  daily  earnings  rather 
diminished  than  increased  as  she  continued  her  work. 
She  had  hoped  for  a  steady  waxing  of  her  profits,  but 
they  seemed  on  a  steady  wane  instead.  She  did  not 
dare  tell  Tom.  She  wondered  wherein  \a.y  the  cause. 
Even  Nora  and  Jemmy  did  better  than  she.  To  add  to 
her  discomfort,  she  became  also  aware  of  a  growing 
dislike  —  even  disgust — for  the  occupation.  "Was  it 
that  her  class  of  customers  was  changing,  or  was  it 
onl}^  that  she  was  growing  to  dislike  them?  r»ut 
it  seemed  to  poor,  discouraged,  heart-sick  Bess,  that 
the    men  who  bou2;ht   of  her   were   very  coarse    and 


190  THE   CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COURT. 

repulsive.  Or  was  it  only  that  she  hated  selling  papers 
because  she  made  no  better  success  at  it?  She  cast 
about  in  her  mind  for  something  else  to  do.  It  wa? 
evident  she  did  not  earn  her  own  share  of  the  family 
expenses.  Something  more  and  better  she  must  do 
She  longed  to  ask  Tom's  advice  and  aid ;  but  she  knew 
he  was  not  a  genius  at  de\'ising  and  pointing  out  new 
ways,  and  besides,  a  sense  of  shame  in  confessing  that 
she  had  begun  to  believe  he  was  right,  and  selling 
papers  was  very  unpleasant  work  for  a  girl,  deterred 
her  from  confiding  in  him. 

Ned,  springing  in  and  out  of  horse^iars  and  omni' 
buses,  jumping  hither  and  yon,  wherever  there  seemed 
chance  of  a  customer,  alert,  active,  quick-witted,  —  Ned 
the  newsboy  could  sell  in  a  day  almost  twice  as  many 
papers  as  the  other  three.  Nora  was  more  aided  by  hei 
tender  years,  and  Jemmy's  presence  and  enterprise- 
than  she  knew.  These  two  went  always  in  company 
and  together  managed  to  do  a  very  tolerable  day's  work 
But  Bess  had  always  to  set  out  alone.  Ned  was  out 
of  the  question  as  a  companion ;  and  she  knew  that 
to  accompany  Nora  would  be  onlj'  to  take  trade  out 
of  her  hands,  and  would  really  be  no  gain  to  the 
general  good.  So  Bess  wandered  away  rather  aim- 
lesslj\  She  wanted  to  find  some  quiet  streets  like 
those  where  Nora  sold  in  the  mornings.  But  Nora 
had  found  all  but  two  in  that  part  of  the  city ;  and  in 


BEING   A   GIRL.  191 

those  two  was  posted  a  child,  —  a  mere  bit,  scarce 
six  3'ears  old,  —  who  was  supplied  with  the  news, 
and  attempting  to  sell.  Bess  felt  herself  too  large  a 
girl  to  enter  into  competition,  and  relinquished  the 
field.  If  she  sought  any  of  the  busy  corners,  a  crowd 
of  boys  in  the  same  avocation  was  sure  to  be  there 
congregated.  True,  Ned  had  pre-empted  a  claim  for 
her,  as  for  Nora,  on  one  block  of  the  avenue ;  but  no 
one  could  live  on  that  alone.  Indeed,  Bess  found 
herself  at  great  disadvantage  with  both  Ned  and 
Nora.  She  could  not  emulate  Ned's  activity  and 
impudence.  Nor  j^et  did  her  almost  full-grown  appear- 
ance awake  the  kindly  interest  that  so  generally 
greeted  Nora.  The  very  newsboys,  who  would  give 
way  to  such  a  little  girl  as  Nora,  were  inclined  to 
push  their  own  claims,  quite  indifferent  to  Bess  and 
her  success.  Failures  did  not  stimulate,  the}'  dis- 
couraged Bess.  As  day  by  day  she  sadly  counted 
up  and  acknowledged  to  Ned  her  petty  cash,  not  onlj' 
did  her  face  become  grieved  and  troubled,  but  her 
heart  sank  with  a  terrible  self-depreciation  and  mor- 
tification. It  was  just  as  Tom  had  said,  "  Girls 
couldn't  sell  papers." 

The  little  that  Bess  earned  was  better  than  nothing ; 
so  she  still  Aveut  out  daily.  She  hated  the  bus}',  bus- 
tling streets,  she  hated  the  glare  of  the  hot  sunshine, 
the  restless  tread  of  the  endless  crowd,  the   stare  of 


192  THE    CUILDREV    OF    AMITY    COCRT. 

strange  03-03,  the  sound  of  strange  voices.  She  started 
out  each  morning  with  a  shrinking  dread  ;  she  lingered 
all  day  and  offere  1  her  news  with  a  hopeless  anticipa- 
tion of  refusal,  and  the  little  pain-<lroop  in  the  corners 
of  her  month  deepened  as  the  day  wore  on  ;  till  at  last 
the  duslc  of  evening  released  her,  and  she  hastened 
homeward  with  a  sense  of  relief  and  a  heart  lighter 
for  the  moment  than  since  she  woke  at  early  day-break. 
Such  days  could  not  continue.  Whether  Bess  would 
have  set  out  with  equal  vigor  to  make  some  change, 
had  her  work  proved  as  profitable  as  she  expected,  is 
perhaps  doubtful.  She  might  have  endured  the  pain 
for  the  sake  of  the  aid  she  could  bring  to  her  brothers. 
But  as  things  were,  there  was  no  possible  motive  to  con- 
tinue, save  only  till  other  employment  could  be  found. 

It  was  a  sultrj',  though  cloudy  forenoon.  Bess  stootl 
in  her  usual  j^lace  on  the  avenue ;  her  hat  had  fallen 
back  upon  her  shoulders,  her  papers  la\'  unsold  in  the 
folio  under  her  arm,  her  face  was  growing  to  its  loo 
common  expression  of  hopeless  disappointment  and 
pain.  Ned  ran  to  her  from  some  blocks  above,  and 
claimed  more  than  half  her  bundle. 

'•  Give  them  to  me.  I  can  sell  them.  There 's  a 
rush,  up  at  the  hotel ;  people  coming  b}'  the  coachful 
and  the  papers  go  like  lightning."  •  And  off  ran  Ned, 
leaving  Bess  lighter  at  heart,  as  also  in  the  package 
under  her  arm. 


BEING    A    GIKL.  193 

Then  her  own  papers  began  to  go  more  readily,  as 
if  her  brightened  face  made  better  sales.  Only  two 
or  three  remained.  She  counted  them  with  a  pleased 
smile,  thinking  "  when  these  are  gone  I'll  go  home  till 
it  is  time  for  afternoon  editions."  And  looking  up  she 
found  another  customer  at  her  side  offering  the  pennies 
in  one  hand,  while  he  tried  to  draw  out  a  paper  with 
the  other.  IJess  glanced  up  with  surprised  delight, 
saying  to  liorself  "  only  two  more." 

The  man  noticed  her  smile  ;  and,  flattering  himself 
that  it  was  somewhat  of  a  personal  compliment,  lin- 
gered a  moment,  saying,  — 

"  You  are  nearly  sold  out." 

"  Yes,"  Bess  replied,  checking  the  words  "  I  am  so 
glad,"  that  were  ready  to  follow. 

She  did  not  like  the  man's  face.  It  was  fat  and 
coarse  and  disagreeable.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  Bess 
that  everybody  looked  just  so,  there  was  such  a  predom- 
inance of  sucti  faces  in  the  city. 

"  You  do  a  pretty  good  business?" 

Bess  opened  her  mouth  to  explain  ;  but  i-emcmbering 
that  the  disposal  of  her  papers  to  Ned  would  make  too 
long  a  story,  said  nothing. 

"  Like  it?  "  continued  the  man,  folding  up  the  paper 
very  small  to  put  it  in  his  breast-pocket. 

"  Not  much." 

"Sorry!"    he    returned,  with  a  lazy  laugh.     "I'll 

13 


194  THE    CHILDREN   OF    AMITT   COURT. 

come  round  and  buy  of  you  to-morrow."  And  suddenly 
chucking  liess  under  the  chin,  with  the  added  words 
"little  girl"  to  excuse  the  familiarity,  and  another 
laugh,  he  turned  away. 

Bess  stood  straight  and  still,  and  her  dark  eyes  shot 
some  Aery  angry  glances,  and  then  slowly  filled  with 
tears.  She  took  out  her  handkerchief  to  stop  them, 
but  used  it  to  rub  her  insulted  little  chin  instead. 

"  I  will  go  home,"  she  thought  Indeed,  she  could 
scarcely  keep  from  crying  then  and  there. 

"  Papers  ?  "  asked  a  voice ;  and  looking  up,  Bess  saw 
a  round,  red  face  indeed,  but,  though  not  lacking  flesh, 
it  was  a  Aery  different  one  from  the  other.  A  rim  of 
white  hair  was  just  inside  the  brim  of  the  broad,  low- 
crowned  hat,  and  a  gold-headed  cane  was  sticking  out 
pompously  from  under  his  arm. 

Bess  dashed  away  her  tears,  and  drew  out  another 
paper. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  j'ou,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  the 
old  gentleman,  so  kindly  that  Bess  longed  to  tell  him 
all  her  troubles. 

"  O,  I  wish  I  could  find  something  to  do  besides  scll- 
i:jg  papers !  "  she  exclaimed,  passionately. 

"  Do  j'ou?  "Well,  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  he  added, 
sudden!}',  remembering  that  hers  might  not  be  either  a 
pleasant  or  an  easy  life,  especially  if,  as  seemed  likely, 
she  had  known  something  better. 


BEING    A    GIRL.  193 

Standing  a  moment,  looking  at  her  thoughtfully,  he 
seemed  at  last  to  come  to  a  conclusion  of  his  cogita- 
tions satisfactoiy  to  himself. 

"Come  with  mc  ! .  I 'in  going  down  town.  I'll  see 
what  can  be  found  for  you.  I  'II  see  ;  no  harm  in  try- 
ing.    You  're  willing  to  work,  I  hope?" 

"  O,  yes,"  answered  Bess,  eagerl}'. 

Then  the  old  gentleman  called  an  omnibus,  put  Bess 
in,  and  entered  after  her.  Bess  could  not  tell  what 
made  her  so  light-hearted.  She  liked  the  old  gentleman, 
he  had  such  a  kind,  earnest  face,  and  spoke  so  cheerily  ; 
and  she  felt  quite  sure  he  was  going  to  do  something 
veiy  kind  for  her,  though  her  wildest  imaginations  failed 
to  suggest  what,  further  than  that  it  was  work  of  some 
kind,  doubtless  pleasanter  than  selling  papers,  and  prob- 
ably quite  ns  remunerative.  It  could  not  well  be  less 
of  either. 

When  the  old  gentleman  got  out,  Bess  followed,  arid 
he  led  her  in  at  the  door  of  a  large  warehouse,  and 
stopped  before  the  desk  of  a  small,  dark,  nervous  little 
man. 

"  Is  n't  there  room  for  a  new  hand  in  the  raaking-up 
room  ?  "  asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"•  I  don't  know,  sir.  Sands,  the  foreman,  can  tell 
you." 

To  Sands,  the  foreman,  the  old  gentleman  went,  with 
Bess  in  a  state  of  breathless  wonder.     It   was  a  large 


196  THE    CHILDREN    OK    AMITY   COURT. 

carpet  warehouse  through  which  they  were  passing. 
ISIr.  Sands  spoke  through  a  tube,  and  soon  a  young 
woman  appeared. 

"  Here  is  a  new  hand  at  making  up,"  said  Mr.  Sands. 
'•  Put  her  on  that  small,  cheap  hall-carpet  that  is  or- 
dered for  to-morrow." 

The  3'oung  woman  bowed,  and  turned  to  lead  Bess 
away. 

"  She  'II  liave  fifty  cents  a  day  for  the  first  week," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  "  paid  each  night.  Afterwards, 
increase  as  she  improves.  You  are  on  trial,  remember, 
—  on  trial.     If  you  do  well,  j'ou  '11  have  a  good  place." 

So  Bess  knew  the  old  gentleman  belonged  to  the  es- 
tablishment, and  she  would  be  likely  to  see  him  again. 
She  was  glad  of  that.  She  felt  as  if  he  would  take  care 
of  her,  and  keep  her  out  of  all  future  trouble. 

In  the  sewing-room  she  found  some  twenty  j'oung 
women  and  girls  at  work.  Two  men  were  measuring 
and  cutting  carpets  at  one  end  of  the  room,  which  was 
large,  low,  and  very  hot.  The  woman  who  had  led  her 
up  manj'  stairs  to  this  room,  asked  her  if  she  could  sew 
well,  to  which  Hess  was  very  glad  to  reply  in  the  aflu"- 
mative.  She  was  then  placed  on  a  low  chair,  beside  a 
small  and,  Bess  thought,  very  ugl}'  carpet,  and  instructed 
how  to  sew  together  the  parts  that  formed  a  most 
curious  figure,  and  was  supposed  to  represent  the  floor- 
area  of  a  hall  in  a  gothic  cottage. 


BKIXG    A    GIRL.  197 

Bess  came  home  wlicn  the  day's  work  ended,  in  gay- 
est spirits.  She  had  not  been  so  happy  since  their 
mother  was  witli  them.  As  she  tripped  lightly  along, 
her  eyes  full  of  happy  light,  and  the  hateful  old  folio, 
•  with  its  one  remaining  paper,  rolled  up  under  her  arm, 
Tom  ovcrtoolv  her.  She  could  not  wait,  and  hastened 
to  tell  him  her  good  fortune.  Tom  was  glad  with  her, 
though  a  little  puzzled  at  her  delight. 

"  Fifty  cents  a  day  is  not  such  a  princely  sum,"  he 
ventured  to  remark,  when  they  were  at  home,  and  Bess 
was  setting  out  a  supper  of  the  bread  and  milk  they 
had  l)ought. 

"  No,  but  it  is  as  much  as  I  have  been  earning,  and 
it  is  to  be  increased." 

"  1  'm  afraid  sewing  carpets  is  hard  work." 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  "  replied  Bess,  with  a  cheery  laugh, 
straightening  her  tired  back. 

"  And  not  nearly  so  pleasant  as  selling  papers." 

"  O,  Tom  !  anything  is  better  than  that." 

"  What  made  you  do  it,  then  ?  " 

"  For  money,  of  course." 

"  But  T  thouglit  you  liked  it." 

"  Why,  Tom,  how  could  you?" 

'•If  you  didn't  like  it,  what  made  you  insist  upon 
doing  it?  " 

"  Because  I  could  find  nothing  else  to  do,  and  we 
must  have  money." 


193  THE    Cnir.DREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

"  TTc  conlfl  have  got  along ;  I  would  never  have  let 
you,  if  I  bad  known." 

"  Then  you  should  have  found  something  better  for 
me  to  do." 

"  But  if  I  could  n't  ?  " 

"  I  know.  That 's  why  I  had  to  sell  papers.  It  is 
easy  to  find  fault,  but  not  alwa3's  so  easy  to  suggest 
improvements.     And  you  know  I  must  do  somelhing." 

"  And  you  really  did  n't  want  to  do  it?" 

"  Probably  I  hated  it  as  badly  as  you  could  for  me, 
after  I  came  to  know  what  noisy,  unpleasant  work  it 
was.  I  certainly  did  n't  need  your  telling  me  I  '  was  a 
girl '  to  make  mo  gladly  choose  something  more  fit  for 
a  girl,  if  I  could  have  found  any  such." 

"  Bess,  I  '11  never  tell  you  yon  are  a  girl  again,  as 
long  as  I  live  !  "  said  Torn,  putting  his  arms  round  her 
neck  with  a  sudden  hug,  and  a  suspicious  mistiness  in 
his  eyes. 

"  You  need  n't,"  Bess  answered,  gravel}^  "  for  I  've 
found  it  out  for  myself,"  with  a  mortifying  recollection 
of  her  disagreeable  morning  customer,  whom  she  had 
omitted  to  mention. 

Then  thrusting  the  water-pitcher  into  Tom's  hands, 
she  cried,  — 

"  There,  run  for  some  water !  I  hear  Ned  and  the 
children  coming  up-stairs." 


MR.  Saunders's  opeeiations.  199 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


MR.    SAUNDERS  S    OPERATIONS. 


TOM  and  Bess  walked  down  together  to  their  work 
next  day.  Their  ways  seemed  to  coincide  re- 
markably. When  Toui  stopped  at  the  door  of  Cobden 
&  Co.'s  warehouse,  Bess  exclaimed,  — 

"  Now,  1  've  only  to  run  round  to  that  narrow  alley, 
and  go  in  at  a  back  door." 

Tom  looked  astonished.  "  Show  me,"  he  said,  mov- 
ing on  in  the  direction  indicated.  They  turned  the 
corner,  and  stopped  at  a  side  door  that  was  used  by  all 
the  carpet  girls  last  night,  and  that  Bes3  knew  was  to 
be  open  at  seven  [ov  their  return  in  the  morning. 

"  VViiy,  Bess,  you  are  at  work  for  Cobden  &  Co., 
too.  It  must  have  been  Mr.  Cobden  who  brought  you 
here." 

Bess  laughed  out  merril}',  and  Tom's  face  shone  with 
delight  at  the  discovery. 

"  Is  n't  it  nice?"  she  said. 

"Tlie  very  jolliest  thing  in  the  world;  we'll  lunch 
together,"  was  Tom's  practical  reply. 


200  THE    CHILDREN   OF   AMITY   COUKT. 

Tom  went  back  to  the  front  door,  which  he  opened 
with  his  key,  and  was  soon  very  busy  about  his  usual 
worli.  It  seemed  as  if  the  very  knowledge  that  Bess 
was  in  the  building  made  the  day  shorter  and  work 
easier  to  him.  At  noon  he  took  the  lunch  he  had  pro- 
vided for  himself,  and  went  up  into  the  ''  making-up 
room  "  to  eat  it  with  her.  It  was  verj'  pleasant  for  bot'i 
of  them.  Bess  told  him  at  night  that  she  thought  the 
foreman  was  more  kindly  to  her.  and  the  woman  Avho 
acted  as  overseer  and  director  did  not  harry  her  so 
much,  after  she  knew  she  was  Tom's  sister.  And  Tom 
was  sure  that  ol  1  Mr.  Cobden  was  quite  delighted  on 
learning  that  he  was  a  brother  of  tho  girl  he  had  sent 
to  work  in  the  "making-up  room'"  yesterday.  The 
brother  and  sister  seemed  so  happy  in  the  slight  com- 
panionship their  work  allowed,  that  every  one  grew  to 
like  them,  as  if  reflecting  the  affection  the}^  felt  for 
each  other.  Even  ^Ir.  Saunders  was  slowly  receiving 
Tom  into  his  favor,  and  treated  him  with  far  more 
kiudiiness  than  formerly. 

But  Mr.  Saunders  was  often  anxious  and  abstracted 
now.  His  first  successful  venture  brought  the  effort 
for  another,  and  care  and  trouble  accompanied. 

"  When  will  the  next  shipment  arrive?"  asked  Mr. 
Waters  one  day,  suddenly,  of  Mr.  Saunders. 

The  junior  partner  started.  '-Not  just  at  present," 
ho  answered,  with  embarrassment.  "  It  is  due,. I  know, 
but  accidents  may  delay  it." 


ME.  SAUXDERS'S  OPEKATIONS.  201 

"  You  know  all  about  it,  I  '11  warrant,"  put  in  old 
Mr.  Cobden.  "  Shrewd  man,  you  are,  Saunders.  Let 
us  hope  there  will  be  no  accidents.  It  would  be 
remarkably  convenient  if  it  were  here  now.  One  of  our 
old  customers  is  on  from  California,  and  we  might  sell 
him  a  fine  bill  of  goods  if  those  new  styles  were  only 
in.  But  he  won't  return  under  a  da^^  or  two  longer,  and 
they  may  come." 

Mr.  Saunders  pricked  his  ears  with  a  peculiarly  keen 
attention  at  this  piece  of  news.  But  he  said  nothing, 
till  ]Mr.  Cobden  was  about  leaving  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  may  not  be  in  as  early  as  usual  to-mori'ow  morn- 
ing. I  thought  I  'd  speak  of  it  that  you  need  not  be 
wondering." 

"  O,  ver}'  well,  very  well;  very  good  of  you  to 
mention  it." 

"  Next  morning  Mr.  Saunders  was  verj'  late.  After 
what  he  had  said,  no  one  would  have  been  surprised, 
were  it  not  for  what  happened  before  he  came.  It  was 
about  eleven  ;  Mr.  Cobden  and  Mr.  Waters  were  seated 
at  their  deslcs.  The  office  parlor  was  quiet  as  a  country 
meadow,  which  was  nothing  unusual,  when  no  callers 
were  present.  A  Icnock  at  the  door  was  quicklj'^  fol- 
lowed by  the  entrance  of  a  thin,  shabbily-dressed  man, 
who  proceeded  at  once  to  the  deslc  of  the  elder  gentle- 
man. 

"  Mr.  Cobden,  I  presume  ?  "  he  said. 


202  THE    CIIILDKEX    OF    AMITT    COURT. 

Mr.  Cobden  nodded. 

"  Member  of  the  firm?"  wns  the  next  question,  with 
^  backward  wave  towards  Mr.  "Waters. 

The  old  gentleman  nodded  again,  and  began  to 
assume  an  expression  of  inquiry. 

'  •  Then  I  will  proceed  at  ouce  to  business.  You  are 
aware  that  smuggling  is  considered  contrary  to  law 
in  almost  an}-  country.  So  I  am  here  to  tell  you  that, 
confiscation  being  the  penalty  on  such  goods,  your  last 
cargo  of  carpets  that  was  landed  last  ni^ht  from  the 
steamer '•  Tom  Thumb,"  out  on  the  Connecticut  coast, 
will  not  reach  3'ou.  The  whole  amount  was  secured  after 
it  was  loaded  into  wagons  fi:)r  transportation  to  3'ou." 

"  It  is  an  outrageous  lie ! "  thundered  Mr.  Cobden. 
"  There  has  never  been  a  stroke  or  a  thought  of  smug- 
gling in -tins  firm  !  " 

"  Were  n't  you  expecting  a  cargo  at  this  time?" 

"  Not  a  smuggled  cargo  ! " 

The  custom-house  officer  looked  puzzled  and  discom- 
fited. He  produced  from  his  breast-pocket  a  wide,  flat 
leather  case  of  papers,  and,  taking  out  the  first  one, 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Cobden. 

"  Will  you  take  oath  that  that  is  not  the  bill  of  lad- 
ing of  j-our  cargo?" 

"I'll  take  oath  that  anything  is  not  that  is  smug- 
gled," he  replied,  without  looking  at  the  offered  paper. 

Mr,  Waters  rose,  and  came  behind  the  officer's  chair. 


MR.  Saunders's  operations.  203 

"  Hadn't  3'ou  better  look  at  the  paper?"  he  suggested 
to  his  uncle. 

"  No  !  I  won't  look  at  anj'thing  that 's  brouglit  here 
to  prove  against  mo  a  thing  I  never  did  —  never  thought 
of  doing.     It 's  all  an  outrageous  lie  !  " 

But  over  the  stranger's  shoulder  Mr.  Waters  cauglit 
a  glimpse  of  familiar  items,  which  he  himself  had 
stiiJulaled  should  be  in  Mr.  Saunders's  next  order  for 
shipment. 

"  Let  us  hoar  your  story,'"  said  Mr.  Waters,  more 
civilly.  "  My  uncle  is  justly  indignant,  for  certainly 
unlawful  trade  is  not  the  intention  of  this  firm ;  but 
whether  his  indignation  is  rightly  directed  upon  you 
remians  to  be  proved." 

Mr.  Cobden  fidgeted  in  his  chair,  and  turned  his 
back  half  round  upon  the  two,  at  tiiis  conciliatory 
spe^^ch.     But  he  listened  and  did  not  interpose. 

"  I  have  told  my  story  once  already,"  said  the 
stranger,  rather  testily.  "  The  little  steamer  '  Tom 
Thumb '  last  night  landed  a  small  cargo  in  a  lonely  spot 
on  the  Connecticut  sliore.  The  goods  were  brought  in 
boats,  and  put  aboard  wagons  which  were  directed  to 

unload  at  store-rooms.  No.  14  Soutli  L Street.    The 

same  man  who  superintended  the  landing,  returned  to 
the  city  by  rail,  and  is  to  be  on  hand  to  see  to  the  stor- 
ing '.icre.  Having  these  items  sent  on  bj'  telegraph,  it 
was  <iasy  to  ascertain  that  the  designated  rooms  belong' 


204  TUE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY   COURT. 

to  the  firm  of  Cobden  &  Co.  We  have  waited  only  for 
the  arrival  of  our  detective  with  this  bill  of  goods. 
The  teams  are  on  the  road,  but  will  reach  a  different 
destination  from  your  elegant  warehouse.  Sorry,  gen- 
tlemen," he  said,  smiling  serenely,  "  but  it  is  our 
unpleasant  duty  to  interfere  with  all  these  little  ope- 
rations in  contraband  goods." 

Mr.  Cobden,  irritated  past  endurance  by  this  last 
tantalizing  speech,  rose  Jiastil}',  and  with  angry  glare  at 
the  suave  gentleman,  began  pacing  furiously  up  and 
down  the  room,  stamping  his  stout  cane  heavily  at  every 
step.     Mr   "Waters  remained  cool  and  immovable. 

"  It  may  be,  as  3^011  say,  that  a  cargo  of  goods  for 
the  firm  was  unlawfully  landed  last  night,  but  lue  were 
quite  ignorant  of  the  transaction,  and  should  not  have 
suffered  it  had  we  known  it." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  gentlemanly  official,  quickly. 
"  I  was  sure  of  that.  Firms  never  do  sanction  such 
transactions.  I  never  knew  one  in  all  my  experience — 
which  has  been  quite  large  —  I  never  knew  owe  that  was 
not  utterlj--  igi;orant  of  all  such  transactions,  and  bitterly 
opposed  to  them  from  the  first.  O,  I  knew  you  would 
not  uphold  the  act,  but  yet  as  it  happens,  singularly 
enough,  that  you  are  so  intimately  associated  in  the 
operation  that  you  will  be  sure  to  be  the  parties  who 
lose  by  it,  I  came  in  to  tell  you  what  had  become  of 
your  goods." 


MR.  SAUNDEKS'S  OPERATIONS.  205 

Even  this  did  not  move  Mr.  Waters.  Mr.  Cobden 
stayed  his  angry  footseps  behind  the  stranger's  chair 
and  half  lifted  his  cane  ;  but  he  softly  put  it  down  again 
and  walked  as  before.     Mr.  Waters  continued,  — 

"  We  have  intrusted  some  of  our  buying  to  our  con- 
fidential head  clerk  It  seems  we  have  been  more 
confidential  than  he  has,  for  he  has  never  fully  explained 
to  us  how  it  was  that  he  could  procure  goods  at  remark- 
ably low  rates." 

'■  Then  this  has  been  going  on  for  some  timo?  "  sud- 
denly fl.ished  forth  the  sharp  official. 

Mr.  Waters'  lilack  e^'es  sparkled,  and  he  remained 
silent,  an  ominous  token  with  him. 

Mr.  Cobden  planted  himself  squarely  before  the 
stranger. 

"  Now,  sir,  I  presume  your  business  is  about  finished 
here." 

"  Ver}'  nearly,  sir.  I  would  like  a  reply  as  to  how 
manj'^  such  cargoes  j'ou  have  received." 

"  We  don't  know ;  and,  if  we  did,  you  can't  com- 
pel any  man  to  testify  against  himself.  We  wish  you 
good-daj-,  sir." 

The  gentleman  rose,  foeling  that  exit  was  growing 
momentarily  more  desirable,  if  not  necessary,  and,  with 
a  bow,  retired. 

Mr.  Cobden  threw  himself  into  his  chair,  and  breathed 
hard.      Mr.  Waters  withdrew  to  his  own  place,  and 


20G  tiif:  ciiild::ex  of  amity  court. 

both  sat  silent  for  moro  than  an  hour.  At  last  Mr. 
Cobden  raised  his  head  suddenly. 

"  Will  Saunders  come  back?"  he  asked. 

"  Wh}'  not?"  returned  Mr.  AVaters. 

And  again  silence  reigned  for  an  hour,  at  which  time 
Mr.  Saunders  himself  entered.  It  had  been  the  bitter- 
est day  of  all  his  life.  There  was  nothing  he  valued 
more  tlian  the  honorable  position  ha  had  hel  1  for  a  j'eur 
past  in  the  firm  of  Cob  len  &  Co. 

It  was  in  a  weak  moment  that  the  opportunity  of 
smuggling  in  some  goods  had  been  presented  to  him, 
and,  dazzled  with  the  wealth  it  promised,  and  perhaps 
also  a  liltle  with  the  danger,  he  had  undertaken  to  carry 
out  the  suggestion  and  cheat  the  government,  though 
he  was  far  too  honest  to  have  done  the  same  with  an 
individual.  "  Our  country,"  beyond  the  mere  land  of 
it,  sometimes  comes  to  represent  something  mythical ; 
and  pur  government  a  fabrication  that  should  ever  pro- 
tect and  aid  its  citizens,  claiming  nothing  of  them  in 
return. 

Mr.  Saunder^  believed  that  though  the  goods  were 
lost,  there  was  no  possibility  of  an  exposure  of  the  firm 
to  the  opprobrium  of  the  transaction.  The  bales  bore 
no  name.  lie  was  glad  of  this,  and  ready  to  take  the 
whole  blame  of  the  matter,  but  to  bear  the  whole  loss 
was  a  harder  thing  to  do.  Coming  in,  he  sat  down 
before  Mr.  Cobden,  and  told  his  story.     Doing  so,  the 


MR.  Saunders's  operatioks.  207 

full  meanness,  of  the  operation  seemed  to  appear  to  him, 
for  the  first  time,  as  he  was  obliged  t)  see  it  tlirough  the 
e^'es  of  other  men.  Sometimes  such  a  view  makes  a 
bitter  diiference  in  the  appearance  of  one's  o^m  con- 
duct. The  angir  had  already  died  in  old  ]Mr.  Cobden's 
heart ;  it  had  bubbled  over  and  spent  itself,  and  now  he 
felt  onlj'  p'ty  for  the  j'oungman,  who,  in  a  time  of  temp' 
tation,  liad  failed.  Not  so  Mr.  Waters.  His  indignation 
had  been  bottled  in  silence,  and  was  as  incorrigible  as 
in  its  first  nascent  strength.  It  was  a  startling  sur- 
prise  to  INIr.  Saunders,  when  he  had  finished  his  recital 
and  expressed  his  contrition,  to  be  answered  by  the 
stinging  tones  of  Mr.  Waters,  — 

"  "We  have  heard  these  business  items  once  this  morn- 
ing, from  the  custom-house  officer.  We  did  not  know 
your  personal  sentiments.  It  is  gratifying  that  j'ou  do 
not  intend  to  continue  in  these  smuggling  operations, 
though  it  probably  would  not  in  future  so  much  affect 
us,  as  heretofore." 

"  There,  there  !  Dick,"  cried  old  Mr.  Cobden,  "  don't 
go  on  in  that  waj'.  There  's  the  very  devil  in  j'ou  whe» 
j'ou  are  mad." 

"But  he  said  the  "custom-house  officer'!"  stam' 
mered  Mr.  Saunders. 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  here  to  notify  lis  of  tlie  facts," 
returned  Mr.  Cobden,  with  mild  regret  and  true  kind" 
ness. 


203  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMJTY   CODRT. 

"  Then  I  will  iit  least  set  you  right  there,"  said  Mr. 
Saunders,  and  he  hastily  left  the  parlor.  It  was  a 
relief  to  him  to  escape  for  a  while  from  the  crushing 
influence  of  Mr.  Waters'  presence,  and  he  wanted  to 
think  how  he  could  further  repair  the  wrong  he  had 
done  his  employers.  But  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  to 
right  a  wrong  that  falls  only  on  character.  "When  ouce 
the  idea  had  gained  ground  in  the  minds  of  custom- 
house officers  that  Cobden  &  Co.  had  been  engaged  in 
smuggling,  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  eradicate  it. 
After  long  argument  and  free  confession  that  he  him- 
self had  alone  been  concerned  in  the  shameful  matter 
which  the  firm  had  never  known  or  suspected,  he  was 
still  obliged  to  return  feeling  that  he  had  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  restoring  his  employers  to  the  honorable 
consideration  they  had  always  held.  He  felt  that  the 
consequences  of  his  greedy  effort  for  gain  were  far 
more  wide  and  lasting  than  hs  had  ever  dreamed  they 
could  be  ;  and,  worse  yet,  they  fell  not  where  they  hon- 
estl}^  belonged,  on  himself,  but  oa  those  who  had  been 
his  Idndest  friends 

When  he  again  entered  the  oSBce-parlor,  Mr.  Waters 
had  been  called  awaj'.  This  was  a  great  relief.  He 
could  talk  fixr  more  easily  with  Mr.  Cobden  alone,  for 
he  knew  the  old  gentleman  felt  kindly  towards  him  spite 
of  his  evil-doing.  No  one  could  be  more  severe  and 
fretful  for  small  delinquencies  than  old  Mr.  Cobden; 


MR.  SAUNDEUS'S  OPERATIONS.  209 

bnt  he  carried,  under  all  his  sharpness,  a  charitable 
heart,  and  in  a  real  emergency  was  unexpectedly 
generous. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  sir,"  Mr.  Saunders  said, 
standing  before  him,  hat  in  hand,  with  even  more  peni- 
tence than  he  had  felt  before.  "  I  have  been  to  the 
custom-house  and  set  you  right  there,  as  far  as  telling 
the  truth  could  do  so.  If  you  would  like  to  go  over  the 
books  with  me  I  will  run  over  them,  and  leave  them  so 
they  can  be  readily  understood  by  whoever  takes  them." 

Mr.  Cobden  put  on  his  gold-bowed  glasses,  and  stared 
hard  into  Mr.  Saunders's  face. 

"What  now?"  he  asked,  slowly.  "Aren't  your 
books  right?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  was  the  modest  reply. 

"  I  believe  so,  too,"  returned  the  old  gentleman. 
"  I  believe,  too,  that  you  moan  to  keep  them  so. 
Don't  disappoint  me;  that's  all." 

Mr.  Saunders  stood  irresolute.  Then  he  answered 
slowly,  "  I  do  mean  to  keep  them  so.  Sometime  before 
I  die,  I  hope  to  pay  back  all  the  loss  I  have  caused 
you,  but  it  will  take  years  to  do  that ;  and  of  course 
you  do  not  want  to  retain  me  in  your  employ.  It 
would  be  too  much  like  countenancing  what  I  have 
done." 

*'  Nonsense  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  eagerly,  "  You 
will  stay  in  your  old  place,  do  your  old  work,  and  be 
H 


210  THE  ciiili>ri:n  op  amity  court. 

the  l)est  man  we  have  in  the  building  yet.  Don't  let 
me  hear  a  word  about  leaving.  You  know  we  could  n't 
supply  3-our  place  uniler  three  years'  instruction  of 
some  other  man.  Let  this  matter  be  a  lesson  to  jou, 
and  then  we  shall  want  no  better  man  than  3'ou.  There, 
go !  "  And  he  turned  about  in  his  chair,  presenting 
onl}'  his  broad,  round  shoulders. 

But  Mr.  Saunders  Ihigered.  Such  generosity  was 
more  utterl}'  crushing  than  Mr.  "Waters'  anger,  or  any 
amount  of  upbraiding.  Anger,  reproaches,  he  had 
merited  ;  but  to  be  reminded  of  his  value  to  the  firm, 
and  retained  in  his  old  place  just  as  before,  was  a  new 
kind  of  punishment.  His  hands  trembled,  and  could 
hardl}-  retain  their  hold  of  the  summer  straw  hat. 
Under  his  yellow  beard  his  lips  twitched  aud  quivered, 
and  great  tears  came  slowly  creeping  into  his  aston- 
ished eyes. 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  he  murmured,  "  and  Mr. 
"Waters  —  may  not  —  " 

"  ]\Ir.  "Waters  always  agrees  with  what  I  judgebpst," 
returned  Mr.  Cobden,  with  sudden  loftiness.  "It  is 
all  riglit ;  now  go." 

Mr.  Saunders  seized  the  little  round  red  hand  of  the 
old  gentleman,  and  gave  it  one  hearty  wring  that  told 
more  than  many  words,  saying,  — 

"  You  shall  never  repent  it,  neither  you  nor  Mr. 
Waters." 


MR.  SAUXDERS'S  OrEUATIONS.  211 

Then  ho  went  into  the  outer  office,  and  took  Ms  place 
at  his  desk.  Before  that  day  was  ended,  Tom  Canton 
felt  tho  change  in  IMr.  Saunders's  voice  and  manner. 
All  the  old  arbitrary  waj's  left  him.  He  was  busy  as 
ever,  but  more  kindl}'.  He  set  about  saving  up  from  his 
ger.crous  salary  the  requisite  sum  to  repay  to  the  firm 
the  loss  he  had  occasioned  it.  Ten  years  afterwards  the 
payment  was  made,  but  old  Mr.  Cobden  was  not  then 
living  to  receive  it ;  and  in  all  those  years  the  firm  did 
not  find  in  its  emplo3'^ment  a  more  faithful,  devoted,  and 
withal  kindly  man,  than  Mr.  Saunders. 


212  TUE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


A    RECOGNITIOX. 


"TTOW  nice  Jemmy  looks  in  his  new  suit,"  Nora 

-*--^  said  to  Bess,  as  they  were  preparing  for  their 
early  morning  exodus. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bess,  "  he  looks  as  nice  as  when  he  first 
came  here." 

"  That  was  so  long  ago,"  Jemmy  remarked,  with 
his  chin  at  an  unnatural  elevation,  giving  his  voice  a 
choking  sound,  for  Nora  was  buttoning  his  jacket  at 
the  neck. 

"  How  long  is  it?"  asked  Nora. 

"  Six  weeks,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  don't  we  earn  enough?"  asked  Nora. 

"  O,  yes,"  said  Bess,  cheerily. 

''^  We  manage  to  get  along,  with  the  new  work  Bess 
and  I  have  now,  and  Mr.  Salsby's  letting  us  put  off 
l)a3'ing  the  rent  till  next  month,"  said  Tom,  more  anx- 
iousl}'.  "  But  it  is  going  to  be  hard  work  to  have  the 
two  months'  rent  ready,  when  next  month  comes." 


A    UF.COGNITION.  213 

"  We  shall  manage  it,"  Bess  said,  hopefully ;  and  Tom 
half  smiled  at  her  certainty  about  it.  '•  I  must  get 
Biddy  Crowley  to  wash  your  dress  next,  Nora,"  Bess 
continued  ;  "  .lemmy's  looks  so  nice." 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Jemmy. 

Tom  looked  grave,  but  said  nothing ;  washing  seemed 
to  him  so  expensive. 

"  I  wish  30U  had  a  clean  dress,  too,"  Jemmy  said, 
as  they  walked  along  to  meet  Ned.  "  Then  mamma 
would  know  3'ou  ;  but  you  never  looked  like  that  when 
she  took  care  of  us  " 

"  I  should  know  her,"  said  Nora.  But  the  thought 
grieved  her  notwithstanding.  She  felt  ashamed  of  her 
soiled  and  tumbled  little  dress,  and  remembered,  with  a 
sad  heaviness  of  heart,  how  fi'esh  and  nice  it  had  been 
when  she  first  put  it  on,  to  go  to  New  York,  the  morn- 
ing that  she  left  Campfields.  It  seemed  a  year  ago, 
instead  of  six  weeks.  Was  her  mother  never  coming  to 
find  them  ?  And  thinking  such  things,  little  Nora  grew 
so  sad  she  could  have  cried.  But  she  drove  away  the 
sad  thoughts,  saying,  — 

"  Come,  Jemm}',  let 's  run  a  little  way." 

The  run  soon  ended.  It  was  too  warm.  Besides, 
Nora  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  and  noticed,  for  the  first 
time,  that  there  was  a  heavy  pain  in  her  temples.  "  It 
will  go  awa}-,  b}^  and  by,"  she  thought,  and  went  about 
her  usual  work.     The  day  grew  hotter  and  more  sultry. 


2-t  THIi    CrirLDIlS-^    OF    AMtTY    COUltT. 

People  did  not  seem  to  want  tlie  papers.  It  was  hot 
enou  li  for  noon,  long  before  noon  came.  The  two 
children  were  glarl  to  creep  into  a  shady  spot,  and  sit 
down  for  their  Inncheon.  Nora  smoothed  down  lior 
dress  with  an  air  of  disgust,  and  sighed. 

"  You  must  have  it  done  to-night,"  announced  Jem- 
my, gravely  ;  for  Biddy  Crowley  washed  and  ironed  the 
children's  clothes  at  night,  as  they  had  but  one  suit 
apiece.     "  It  is  ever  so  lon^5  since  it  was  washed." 

"  It  was  clean  for  Harry's  funeral,"  Nora  said, 
softlj'. 

"  Yes,  so  was  mine."  And  then  the  sad  reminiscence 
left  them  in  silence. 

As  the  noon  wore  on,  the  sun's  rays  grew  fainter  and 
disappeared.  Soft  breezes  of  cooler  air  now  and  then 
stole  through  the  cit^'  streets.  People  began  to  look 
anxiously  upward  as  thc}^  hun-ied  along.  The  cars  and 
omnibuses  were  crowded.  The  first,  fresh  breaths  of 
cooler  air  became  cold  gusts,  and  swept  up  the  fine  dust 
of  the  streets  into  thick  clouds.  Men  held  on  their 
hats  and  buttoned  their  linen  coats  ;  women  c'asped 
closer  their  flyin^  draperies,  and  bont  their  heads  to 
meet  the  blast.  Nora  and  Jemmy  crept  away  to  a  shel- 
tered doorway,  and  waited  very  still  and  quiet.  From 
their  covert  they  watched  the  more  care-laden  ones  who 
hid  nice  clothes  to  save,  or  a  long  way  to  go.  But  the 
two  children  had  no  troubles.     They  were  safe  from  th6 


A   RECOGNITION.  215 

drench  of  the  shower,  and  they  enjoyed  the  fresh  breath 
of  the  clouds  and  the  funny  sights  of  the  street. 

By  and  by  the  rain  came ;  first,  a  few  astonished 
drops,  pkimp  on  the  dry,  hot  sidewallc ;  then  a  gust 
brought  a  flock  of  them  ;  then  a  lull,  and  another  pat- 
ter of  great  drops.  Two  or  three  times  this  farce  was 
enacted,  and  then  down  came  the  shower,  pelting  and 
dashing,  splashing  against  the  pavements,  and  washing 
down  the  spouts  and  gutters.  0,  it  was  a  delicious  rain  ! 
It  was  hard  to  keep  Jemmy  out  of  it ;  it  smelt  so  fresh 
and  felt  so  good,  lie  longed  to  stand  outside  and  let  it 
rain  on  him.  Even  he  was  a  martyr  to  good  clothes. 
Nora  could  not  let  him  spoil  the  clean  suit  Biddy  had 
just  washed  for  him.  The  washing  had  cost  too 
much. 

At  last  the  shower  was  over ;  the  sun  came  smiling 
out  upon  the  drenched  city,  that  seemed  to  smile  mer- 
rily back  from  its  glistening  stones,  rippling  streams, 
and  shining  roofs.  The  air  was  fresh  and  cool.  People 
came  tripping  daintily  out  of  their  temporary  shelters  ; 
and  Nora  and  Jemmy  went  back  to  their  work  of  sell- 
ing papers.  Ned  had  brought  the  evening  editions  just 
before  the  storm  came  But  now  nobody  wanted  them. 
It  grew  very  discouraging. 

"  Let's  go  somewhere  else,"  stud  Jemmy. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don  t  know  where,"  Nora  replied,  with  a 
weary  little  sigh. 


216  THE    CHILDREN   OF   AMITY    COURT. 

"  Down  to  the  station  where  the  cars  come  in,  is  a 
good  place,"  Jemra}'  suggested. 

"  "SYell,"  slowly  acquiesced  Nora. 

It  was  very  busy  at  the  station.  The  rain  made  no 
difference  there  Trains  came  and  went  all  the  same,  and 
plenty  of  people  came  and  went  in  them.  Nora  found 
many  customers  for  the  evening  papers-  Jemmy,  too, 
was  ver}^  useful  in  making  sales.  He  scampered  all  about 
the  dim,  cavernous  place,  across  the  tracks  and  through 
the  outward  bound  trains,  to  Nora's  constant  anxiety. 
Out  on  the  surrounding  porch  stood  groups  of  reunited 
friends,  or  parties  looking  for  carriages  Innumerable 
coaches  were  drawn  up  there.  Private  equipages  of 
all  degrees  of  grandeur,  and  the  various  styles  of  city 
vehicles  for  conveying  passengers.  In  among  them 
Jemmy  dodged,  or  up  and  down  amid  the  waiting  peo- 
ple on  the  platform.  It  was  just  what  he  liked,  and  he 
was  having  his  fill.  He  was  very  successful.  Every 
one  seemed  willing  to  buy  of  the  clean,  bright,  little 
fellow.  A  gentleman  at  a  carriage  window  beckoned. 
Jemmy  brought  hira  a  paper,  and,  turning  to  go  back  by 
a  different  route,  he  leaped  across  a  dirtj'  puddle,  arms 
extended,  papers  in  one  hand  and  pennies  in  the  other. 
But  as  he  sprang,  a  treacherous  stone  gave  way,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  down  came  Jemmj'  full  length  in  the  mud. 

Jemmy  was  past  his  old  habit  of  screaming.  It  had 
disappeared  since  he  had  been  received  as  partner  in 


A    EECOGNITION.  217 

the  paper -trade  with  Nora.  Perhaps  he  recognized  the 
incompatibility  of  the  demonstration  with  the  dignity 
of  his  position ;  perhaps  the  dignified  position  pre- 
vented the  desire  to  express  his  feelings  in  that  wa}-, 
or  abolished  the  feelings.  However  it  had  come  about, 
certain  it  is  that  Jemmy  no  longer  lifted  up  his  voice 
in  bitter  wailing  on  every  adequate  occasion.  One 
shout,  as  a  sort  of  signal  to  Nora,  and  Jemmy  began 
picking  himself  out  of  the  mud  like  a  brave  little  fel- 
low. Nora  flew  to  his  side,  but  could  only  gaze  in 
blank  dismay  at  the  sheeted  blackness  of  the  little 
clean  linen  suit.     It  was  too  bad ! 

"  "We  must  go  straight  home,  Jemmy ! "  she  said, 
sadly  and  gravel}'. 

The  gentleman  in  the  carriage  looked  back,  pityingly. 
The  carriage  stopped  again,  unable  to  get  out  of  the 
press  of  other  travel.  Nora  looked  up  at  it,  and  stood 
as  if  suddenly  chilled  to  a  statue.  For  there  were  two 
faces  at  the  windows,  jind  the  other  was  that  of  a  very 
fair,  sweet  lady,  with  blue  eyes  full  of  kindness,  and  a 
wealth  of  golden  curls  turned  over  a  comb,  peeping 
from  under  the  lace  of  her  bonnet  and  veil. 

Nora  left  Jemm}-,  and  walked  up  to  the  carriage  side 
as  if  a  magnet  drew  her  there. 

"Please  —  do  you  know  Miss  Eva  Roberts?"  she 
asked,  for  the  lady's  face  seemed  almost  exactly  like 
the  one  she  could  just  remember  as  that  of  the  Miss 


218  THE    CIIILDUEN    OF   AMITY   COURT. 

Eva  who  had  come  to  see  her  mother  iu  Campfields  so 
long  ago. 

"  Tliere  is  n't  any  such  person  now,"  answered  the 
gentleman,  quickly. 

And  Nora  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  But  there  was 
a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  very 
much  amused  at  something. 

"  Wliat  is  it  you  waut?"  asked  the  la^y,  kindly.  "  I 
am  Eva  Roberts." 

"  O  !  "  cried  Nora,  looking  up  in  delight.  But  some- 
how sobs  would  come,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
she  felt  laughter  and  tears  struggle  for  mastery  of 
her  face. 

"  Open  the  door,  Frank,  and  let  me  talk  with  her," 
said  the  lady. 

And  soon  Nora  was  silting  inside  the  coach,  drying 
her  tears,  and  hushing  her  joyful  sobs  to  be  able  to  speak  ; 
while  Jemmy  stood  by  the  door  scraping  off  the  mud, 
to  be  fit  to  get  into  the  carriage  also.  As  he  had  fallen 
on  his  face,  he  thought  he  might  sit  on  the  cushions 
without  injuring  them. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  you  wanted  to  see  Eva  Roberts 
for,"  the  lady  asked,  when  the  driver  had  been  ordered 
to  wait. 

"  Because  we  've  lost  our  mother  ;  it 's  ever  so  many 
weeks  now.  We  can't  find  her,  and  we  thought  per- 
haps 3'ou  could.     She  was  wanting  to  see  you." 


A    RECOGNITION.  219 

"  But  who  is  your  mother?     What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Nora  Craig,  and  that 's  Jemmy." 

"  Nora  Craig  !  "  cried  the  fair  lady  in  delight ;  and 
before  the  astonislied  Nora  could  winlv,  Mrs.  True  had 
taken  her  little  brown  chin  in  her  gloved  hand  and 
kissed  her. 

That  brought  the  tears  again. 

"And  3^ou  remember  us?  and  3'ou '11  help  us  find 
mother  ?  "  Nora  said,  brokenly,  fighting  bravely  to  keep 
from  crying,  and  let  the  smiles  come  without  any  quiv- 
ers at  her  lips 

"  Certainly  I  will." 

"  Is  n't  it  an  omen  of  good  luck,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  to  bo  met  in  this  way  by  children,  on  the  way  to  a 
new  home  ? "  asked  the  smiling  gentleman,  with  more 
seriousness  in  his  pleasant  eyes 

"  I  don't  know  ;  ])erhap3  so,"  replied  the  young  wife, 
with  a  happy  look  on  her  face,  as  she  reached  a  hand 
to  help  Jemmy  in,  and  told  him  to  sit  beside  Mr.  True. 
"  It  seems  so  to  me  ;  I  am  so  glad  to  see  them  !  You 
must  te'l  mo  all  about  it,  where  yon  live,  and  how  you 
lost  yoiu'  mother,  so  we  can  find  her." 

"  We  live  in  Amity  Coiu't,"  said  Jemmy. 

"  Then  we  had  better  drive  there  first,  and  leave  this 
^oung  man  a-soak,"  laughed  Frank  True. 

"0,  dear!  what  ever  shall  I  do  with  him?  Don't 
touch  against  the  gentleman,  Jemmy,  or  against  the  side 


220  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

of  the  carriage,"  said  Nora,  wtth  a  care-worn  air  that 
quite  touched  the  motherly  heart  of  our  old  friend  Eva 
Roberts. 

As  the}'  rode,  Nora  explained  how  Jemmy's  suit  had 
been  washed  and  ironed  last  night,  and  she  was  hoping 
to  have  hers  clean  to-morrow,  —  she  had  saved  money 
for  it,  —  but  now  Jemmy's  must  be  washed'  again.  And 
Eva  True  told  Nora  she  had  just  come  from  Chicago 
with  her  husband,  and  was  to  live  in  New  York.  She 
had  been  travelling  a  long  time  and  could  not  stop  to- 
day to  hear  all  her  story,  but  she  would  come  to-morrow, 
at  noon,  after  she  had  been  home,  and  was  rested,  and 
able  to  help  them  find  their  mother.  She  kissed  both 
the  children  at  parting,  and  Frank  True  gave  Nora  a 
dollar-bill,  saying, — 

"  That  will  make  both  your  little  suits  clean  before 
to-morrow,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  ! "  cried  Nora,  joyfully. 

Then  they  stood  on  the  steps  and  watched  the  car- 
riage drive  away,  and  caught  a  last  look  at  the  sweet 
face  of  their  new  friend,  as  it  turned  the  corner.  When 
even  the  two  trunks  on  the  rack  behind  had  disappeared, 
and  the  rumble  of  the  wheels  was  lost  amid  that  of 
myriad  others,  Nora  and  Jemmy  turned  and  went  up- 
stairs . 


KESTOKATION.  221 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


RESTORATION. 


THERE  were  twelve  little  narrow  cot-beds  in  one 
room.  The  frames  were  all  of  iron,  and  painted 
green.  The  coverlets  were  all  white,  and  tucked  snugly 
in  at  the  sides.  In  some  of  the  beds  la}'  pale  and 
weary  women,  who  seemed  to  enjo}^  the  peace  and  quiet 
of  the  place.  On  others,  patients  tired,  though  dressed, 
were  lying  on  the  outside,  being  not  yet  able  to  sit  up 
all  day.  Other  cots  were  smooth  and  neat  as  when  first 
spread  up  for  the  day.  I>y  one  of  these  sat  a  pale, 
thin  woman  with  an  anxious  face.  On  the  floor  before 
and  around  her  lay  man}-  things  that  she  was  busily 
putting  into  a  Aalise.  One  or  two  garments  were  evi- 
dently her  own  ;  but  then  there  were  little  night-gowns 
and  a  clean  light  suit  for  a  little  boy.  But  no  children 
were  to  be  seen  at  the  hospital.  Where  were  the  own- 
ers of  those  little  garments  she  folded  so  tenderly  away 
in  the  great  valise  ?  Alas  !  that  was  the  question  that 
had  liaunted  the  half-crazed  mind  of  the  lonfrins  mother 


222  THE    CHILDREN   CP   AMJTT   COURT. 

these  many  weeks.  No  sooner  had  the  surgeon  re- 
placed the  bones  of  her  injured  head,  and  conscious- 
ness returned,  than  Hannah  Craig's  first  painful  breath 
framed  the  question,  — 

'•  Where  are  my  children?  " 

!No  one  knew.  Not  one  of  those  who  nursed  her 
tcnderlj'  all  these  weeks,  could  find  the  slightest  clew  of 
the  little  ones  that  the  poor  woman  pined  for,  in  a  help- 
less agony,  ever}'  day.  There  was  nothing  but  to  get 
well,  and  then  go  herself  to  seek  for  them.  So  Han- 
nah set  about  getting  well.  She  was  a  sturd}',  healthy 
woman,  and  the  bones  in  her  broken  limbs  soon  knit 
firmly  together ;  but  the  wounded  head  was  a  more 
serious  affair.  Her  anxiety  did  not  help  the  matter, 
and  it  was  a  long,  slow  piece  of  work  for  both  doctor 
and  patient,  before  the  fractured  skull  and  tender 
brain  beneath  were  so  healed  that  the  kind  phjsi.'ian 
pronounced  it  safe  for  her  to  leave  the  hospital. 

But  the  time  had  come  at  last ;  and  the  few  iK>sses- 
sions  that  had  been  brought  with  her  to  the  hospital, 
Hannah  eagerly  put  into  the  valise  once  more,  and 
prepared,  with  an  anxious  sort  of  joy,  to  go  forth  on 
the  search  she  so  longed  to  begin,  yet  dreaded,  lest 
it  fail.  She  was  still  weak.  The  carriage  that  before 
she  could  not  afford,  must  bo  afforded  now.  She 
drove  to  Jane  Cook's,  where  she  left  her  valise  and 
told  her  story,  to  the  great  wonder  and  kind  sympathy 


RESTORATION.  223 

of  her  old  friend.  Then  she  went  out  on  foot.  First 
the  police-station  was  visited,  but  no  such  lost  children 
had  been  found  and  reported  there.  Then  she  went  to 
the  street  whet-e  the  accident  had  occurred.  She  walked 
back  and  forth  in  an  aimless  way,  and  made  some  in- 
quiries at  one  or  two  poor  little  stores  near  the  spot 
where  she  had  lost  them.  But  no  one  knew.  How 
should  ail}'  one  remember  for  two  whole  months,  if  he 
had  known  at  the  time  ?  The  imusual  exertion  wearied 
Hannah  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  distance  she 
walked.  The  discouragement  wearied  her  j-et  more. 
She  must  return  to  Jane's  for  this  da_y,  and  try  again 
to-morrow.  But  how  to  try?  She  did  not  know  what 
moi'e  she  could  do  ;  and  it  seemed  very  hopeless  walk- 
ing up  and  down  these  great  busy  city  sti-eets,  with  their 
hurrying,  indifferent  throngs,  that  seemed  to  have  swept 
away  and  swallowed  up  forcA'er  her  childrcii. 

As  she  thought  thus,  walking  feebly  down  the  wide 
sidewalk  of  the  avenue,  Hannah  felt  a  dizzying  faint- 
ness  come  over  her.  She  had  eaten  nothing  since  her 
breakfast  at  the  hospital  and  it  was  now  far  past  noon. 
She  sat  down  in  a  doorstep  till  the  faintness  should 
pass  away.  People  stared  at  her  as  they  passed. 
She  was  too  well-dressed  and  lady-like  in  appearance 
to  be  sitting  there.  One  woman  asked  if  she  was 
sick. 

"  No  ;  only  a  little  weak  and  faint.     It  will  be  gone 


224  THE    CUII.DKEX    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

in  a  moment,"'  said  Hannah.  And  witli  a  glance  of 
kindl}"  sympathy  the  woman  moved  reluctantly  on. 

The  policeman  kept  an  eye  on  lier,  as  he  paced  back 
and  forth.  The  newsboys  on  the  curbstone  noticed  her, 
and  a  man  in  the  store  brought  her  a  glass  of  water. 
The  water  refreshed  her,  and  she  said,  thankfully,  — 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  moment  with  that,"  as  she 
returned  the  glass. 

Ned  watched  her  from  the  farther  side  of  the  walk. 
He  was  sorry  for  her ;  and  then,  too,  the  face  troubled 
him,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  somewhere  seen  it 
before. 

"See  the  paper,  marm,  while  you  rest?"  he  said, 
thrusting  a  copy  into  her  hand,  more  from  a  desire  to 
do  something  kindly  for  her,  than  because  she  was 
likely  to  want  it. 

Hannah  took  it  mechanically,  with  a  faint  "  Thank 
you."  She  held  it,  but  did  not  tr}'^  to  read  it.  The  diz- 
ziness crime  back  for  a  moment,  and  she  rested  her  head 
on  her  hand.  As  the  blur  passed  away  from  hr  ej'es, 
and  she  found  herself  staring  fixedly  at  the  tightly- 
clenched  paper,  a  name  seemed  to  form  itself  before 
her  bewildered  sight.  She  rubbed  her  ej^es,  and  feared 
she  was  again  becoming  delirious.  Yet  there  it  was, 
her  own  name,  printed  in  the  paper.  What  could  it 
mean  ?  Slowly  the  surprise  brought  back  her  scattered 
senses,  and  she  read  the  notice :  — 


RESTOUATION.  225 

HANNAH   CRAIG 

can  learn  something  of  her  children*  by  calling  at  No.  25 
F Street. 

How  the  paper  danced  again  before  her  eyes  !  But 
it  was  jo}-,  and  not  despair,  now,  and  her  strength 
seemed  returning. 

She  fumbled  nervously  in  her  pocket  for  pennies  to 
pay  the  newsboy  ;  but  Ned  only  answered,  heartily,  — 

"  Keep  it,  inarm  ;  that 's  what  I  gave  it  to  you  for.  I 
on!y  wished  it  was  something  that  would  do  you  good." 

"  It  has  done  me  good,  then,  young  man ;  for  it  lias 
told  me  just  what  I  wanted  to  know.  And  I  thank  you 
a  hundred  times  for  putting  it  into  my  hand  !  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  buying  a  paper." 

"  Is  there  anything  else  I  can  do  for  you,  marm  ?  '* 
said  Ned,  feeling  an  interest  in  the  strange,  yet  familiar 
face,  that  he  could  not  himself  explain  or  understand. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  in  a  carriage,"  said  Hannah, 
"  for  I  find  I  can't  walk."  And  sho  took  hold  of  the 
lamp-post  to  steady  herself,  as  the  dreadful  faintness 
seemed  returning.  '*"Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  fetch 
one  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  cried  Ned,  who  would  like  no  fun 
better  than  such  an  errand.  '•  Come  into  this  store  and 
sit  down,  and  I  '11  have  a  can'iage  here  in  five  minutes." 

Eva  Roberts,  who  was  now  Mrs.  Frank  True,  did 


226  THE  cnri.DR::x  of  AMrrr  court. 

not  forget  lier  promise  to  tlio  children,  and  the  next 
day  at  the  appointed  hour  she  was  toiling  up  tlie  long 
flights  of  stairs  to  the  home  of  the  Canto.i  children. 
Nora  and  Jemmy^  were  awaiting  her,  and  eagerly  told 
their  little  story.  The  lady's  face  grew  grave  as  she 
listened,  but  she  would  not  tell  them  of  the  fear  she 
felt  lest  their  mother  should  never  again  be  found  and 
restored  to  them. 

"  But,  come,  I  must  take  you  home  with  sne  now," 
she  said.  "  We  will  talk  the  matter  all  over,  and  see 
what  can  be  done." 

"  O,  I  knew  j-ou  'd  help  us,  and  make  everything 
come  out  right,  if  onl}^  we  could  find  you!"  Nora 
cried,  joyfully.  "But  wo  didn't  know  where  to  find 
you ;  and  mother  said  3'ou  were  away  in  Chicago  to 
live,  and  might  not  come  back  for  a  long  time.  But 
I  alwa3's  remembered  you." 

"Did  3'ou?"  said  Eva,  smiling.  "I  have  been 
living  in  Chicago  for  two  years  past ;  but  now  I  have 
come  back  to  New  York  to  staj'.  Come,  get  3'our 
hats,  and  we  will  go." 

"Hullo!'  w.as  Jemmy's  sulden  and  jo^'ful  excla- 
mation. He  had  been  very  quiet  during  Mrs.  True's 
visit ;  for  he  did  not  at  all  remember  her,  and  he  was 
trying  to  decide  how  he  should  like  her.  But  now  an 
old  friend  appeared,  and  ho  dropped  the  difficult 
problem  to  ran  forward  »nd  welcome  him. 


RESTORATION.  227 

The  others  turned,  and  saw  the  landlord  standing 
in  the  doorway. 

Mrs.  True  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  with 
a  merry  little  laugh. 

"  Well,  this  is  very  odd ! "  she  said. 

"  So  I  think,"  he  replied,  drawing  a  chair  and  sit- 
ting down,  with  one  of  Jemmy's  plump  little  hands 
clasped  in  his.     "  When  did  you  arrive?" 

"  Only  yesterday.  Thase  children  met  me  the  very 
first  thing.  They  are  the  children  of  my  old  nurse, 
Hannah  Craig." 

"  Indeed ! "  cried  Mr.  Salsby,  looking  at  the  chil- 
dren with  new  interest. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  them  home  with  me,  and  see 
what  can  be  done  for  them.  They  seem  to  be  drifting 
about  in  a  very  helpless  condition." 

"  She  is  going  to  find  our  mother,"  said  Nora,  con- 
fidently. 

"  I  am  going  to  try,"  replied  Mrs.  True. 

"  But,  if  you  please,"  said  Nora,  "  I  don't  like  to  go 
off  without  telling  Ned.  He  will  be  wondering,  and 
think  something  has  happened  to  us." 

"  Write  on  a  card,  and  leave  it  here,"  suggested  Mr. 
Salsby ;  and  as  Mrs.  True  had  none  with  her,  he  pro- 
duced one,  and  wrote  the  needed  information,  placing 
it  conspicuously  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  where  Bess 
could  not  fail  to  see  it* 


228  THE   CHILDREN    OF   AMITY   COXJRT. 

**  But  tell  me  how  I  came  to  find  you  here  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  True,  as  she  and  Mr,  Salsby  rose  to  go. 

"  He 's  the  landlord ;  did  n't  you  know  ? "  Jemmy 
volunteered. 

"  I  found  this  family  of  children  —  the  Cantons  —  here 
in  one  of  my  houses,  where  they  had  suffered  through 
a  long,  cold  winter,  and  lost  their  mother,  perhaps  in 
consequence  of  the  ill-kept  and  unrepaired  condition 
of  the  building ;  and  I  felt  I  owed  them  a  debt  that 
I  have  not  yet  been,  shall  never  be  able  to  pay.  I 
have  concluded  to  make  this  room  tight  and  com- 
fortable, put  into  it  sufficient  suitable  and  convenient 
furniture,  and  look  after  them  carefully  myself  that 
they  come  to  no  want  this  winter.  In  that  way  they 
can  keep  t(^etiier,  and  have  a  home  of  their  own 
for  a  while  longer.  Then  before  another  year  is 
past,  they  must  be  better  provided  for  in  some 
way.  I  can't  tell  yet  how  to  do  it.  Tom  will  do 
very  well  where  he  is ;  but  Bess  and  Ned  must  be 
put  to  school.  I  feel  as  if  the  mother  who  died 
in  this  cold,  cheerless  attic  of  mine,  last  winter, 
had  left  to  me  the  duty  of  providing  for  her  chil- 
dren. One  —  the  little  invalid  and  cripple  —  has  died 
this  summer.  He  has  gone  to  better  care  than  earth 
could  afford  him.  But  the  rest  —  are  mine."  Tears 
stood  in  the  kind,  brown  eyes  of  the  young  landlord, 
as  he  told  the  conviction  that  had  oome  upon  him,  on 


REStORAxiON.  229 

the  night  when  he  watched  bj^  little  Harry.  He  held 
Jemmy's  hand  closer ;  ^nd  Jemmj^  no  way  resenting 
the  tightened  clasp,  as  used  to  he  hi^  wont,  half  uncon- 
sciously with  his  round,  brown  fingers  smoothed  softly 
the  slender,  long,  white  hand  of  the  fine  gentleman. 

Tears  were  in  Mrs.  True's  eyes,  too.  She  wanted  to 
speak  to  him,  — to  say  hdW  sM  aj^preciated  and  sym- 
pathized in  his  rfesolv^.  IBut  thei  M^oMs  did  not  come, 
so  she  only  looked  up  with  a  grave  arid  gentle  smile, 
as  she  tied  on  Nora's  hat. 

"  And  these  twd  gfeetn  id  be  mine,"  she  said,  as  she 
took  Nora's  hand. 

"  tJritil  we  find  mother,"  answered  Nora. 

At  the  outer  door  Mr.  Salsby  bade  them  good- 
morning,  and  Mrs.  True  witli  the  two  children  walked 

rapidly   away   to  F Street,  where   in  a  pleasant 

house  was  her  new  home. 

The  children's  story  was  again  rehearsed  when  Mr. 
True  came  home  to  dinner,  and  he  piromised  to  institute 
inquiries  at  the  police-stations  concerning  what  became 
of  the  woman  who  was  run  over  in  Kirk  Street  nearly 
two  months  ago,  and  also  to  put  a  notice  in  the  papers. 
Still,  to  both  the  prospect  looked  very  discouraging 
that  they  should  evet-  hear  more  than  that  Haiiriah  was 
dead  and  long  since  buried  in  the  stranger's  lot  in 
some  distant  chnrch-yard. 

Nora  and  Jemmy  remained  with  Mrs.  True,  and  the 


230  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

more  willingly  as  little  Nora  was  greatly  worn  down 
with  the  hard  work  and  anxiety  she  had  undergone  for 
so  long.  Now  that  she  felt  it  lifted  from  her,  she  sank 
into  a  sort  of  listless  languor  from  which  it  was  difficult 
to  arouse  her.  She  lay  quietly  on  the  sofa.  She  com- 
plained of  no  pain  or  sickness,  but  her  eyes  were  con- 
stantly closed  in  a  light  doze,  and  she  cared  little  to 
look  up,  speak,  or  even  to  rise  and  eat  at  the  regular 
meal-times.  Mrs.  True  felt  anxious  about  her  all  day 
long.  Jemmy,  however,  was  wide  awake  and  full  of 
delight  at  his  new  position.  He  declared  the  house  was 
almost  as  grand  as  that  of  Bella  Waters,  and  revelled 
exceedingly  in  the  dignity  of  living  in  one  so  nearly 
like  hers. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  that  a 
carriage  stopped  before  the  door,  and  the  tidy  little 
servant-girl  announced  a  lady  down-stairs. 

"  What  name? "  asked  Mrs.  True. 

"  She  only  sent  up  the  newspaper  for  you  to  read 
that,"  replied  the  girl,  presenting  the  paper  and  pointing 
out  the  advertisement  for  Hannah  Craig. 

Mrs.  True  turned  white  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 
She  stopped  a  moment  irresolute.  But  she  would  run 
no  risk  of  disappointing  the  children,  so  she  went  down 
alone  to  see  what  the  news  might  be. 

In  the  parlor  she  started  with  shocked  wonder  at  the 
thin,   worn,  almost  haggard  face   of  Hannah  Craig. 


RESTORATION.  231 

No  less  astonished  was  Hannah  to  see,  in  place  of  the 
strange  grand  lady  she  expected,  her  own  Eva  Roberts. 

"Miss  Eva!  "  she  cried,  and  then  she  laughed  and 
sobbed  together.  This  first  glad  surprise  prepared  her 
for  more  good  news. 

"  Hannali,  3-ou  poor,  poor  Hannah  !  What  has  hap- 
pened to  you  ? "  murmured  Mrs.  True,  taking  her 
weeping  old  nurse  in  her  arms,  and  putting  her  ten- 
derly back  in  a  chair,  while  she  gently  loosened  the 
strings,  and  removed  her  bonnet. 

"  First,  please,  where  are  the  children  ? "  asked 
Hannah,  l)rokenly,  as  she  wiped  her  face,  and  tried  to 
calm  her  shaken  nerves. 

"  Uivstairs,  all  well  and  safe.     I  '11  call  them." 

"  Yes,  do  !  " 

In  a  moment  more,  Nora  had  sprung  into  her 
mother's  arras,  and  Jemmy  was  rolling  on  the  floor  at 
her  feet  in  an  ecstasy  of  rejoicing  that  found  appropriate 
vent  in  shouts  of  laughter.  Jemmy  laughed,  but  little 
Noracould  only  weep,  while  the  joyful  mother,  weak  with 
her  long  sickness,  her  wear}'  day's  search  and  disappoint- 
ments, and  her  fiisting,  wept  and  laughed  together  in 
an  incoherent  manner.  Mrs.  True  observed  it,  and 
guessed  the  weakness  that  produced  it.  Gently  she 
drcAv  the  children  up  and  soothed  them,  finding  time 
meanwhile  to  ring,  and  order  a  cup  of  tea  and  lunch  for 
her  guest,  as  she  insisted   Hannah   should  be.      The 


232  THE    CHILDBEII   OF    AMITY   COURT. 

Qarriage  vr9,s  dismissed,  a  messenger  sent  for  tl^e  valise 
from  Jane  Copji's  house,  w'lt-^  a  little  note  of  expl(ina- 
tion  from  Mrs.  True ;  and,  after  the  lunch,  Hannah 
"^as  persuaded  to  lie  down  and  rest,  with  the  children 
still  beside  her.  She  could  not  bear  to  have  tliem  out 
of  her  sight.  Tier  eager  eyes  feasted  on  their  bright 
happy  faces,  but  Mrs.  True  insisted  on  deferring  the 
story  of  their  adventures  till  to-morrow.  All  the  lan- 
guor and  Ustlessness  seemed  to  go  out  of  Nora  with 
her  mother's  return. 

"  I  knew  3'ou  would  co;me.  I  knew  we  should  find 
you,"  she  said,  over  and  over,  returning  her  mother's 
eager,  happj'  gaze  with  one  almost  the  same. 

Hannah  Craig  was  really  better  than  she  seemed. 
The  day's  exertion  and  trial  had  been  too  much  fpy  her ; 
t)ut  its  happy  ending,  with  the  added  i-est  and  quiet 
Mrs.  True  gladly  a,fforded  her,  soon  restored  her  strength. 
Taking  her  children  with  her,  she  spent  a  da,y  or  two 
with  Jane  Cook.  But  befpre  she  started  on  the  business 
of  seeking  oppojrtunitics  for  laundry-work,  Mrs.  True 
learned  all  her  plan  aud  gladly  volunteered  to  see  what 
she  could  do  for  her.  It  was  little,  perhaps  ;  but  she 
could  at  least  talk  with  her  aunt  Meredith,  and  no  one 
had  more  of  sucli  wor'f  than  she,  though  she  was  seldom 
willing  to  put  out  any  of  it.  But  IMrs.  Meredith 
il'emembcred  Hannah,  and  might  make  a  change  in  her 
favor.     Mrs.  Dpnaldspa  was  <5^i^ite  exultant  when  she 


RESTORATIOM.  233 

found  that  little  Jemmy  Craig  was  one  so  well  deserv- 
ing of  the  interest  she  had  felt  in  him.  But  there  was 
no  occasion  now  for  her  to  think  of  adopting  him. 

Mrs.  Meredith  and  her  daughters  were  on  the  eve  of 
departure  for  their  long-projected  journey,  when  Eva 
True  called  to  talk  about  Hannah,  and  were  in  great 
distress  at  having  just  discovered  the  cook  to  be  dis- 
honest. They  did  not  like  to  go  away  and  leave  her  in 
the  house  as  they  had  intended  ;  yet  there  was  no  time 
to  find  another.  And  just  here  IIann:di  proved  what 
Mrs.  Meredith  unhesitatingly  pronounced  a  "  God- 
gend."  She  could  plainly  see  *'  the  hand  of  Provi- 
dence "  in  the  chance  that  relieved  her  of  her  tixMible 
and  promoted  her  intended  journey.  Hannah  was  faith- 
ful and  reliable.  She  should  come  and  take  the  cook's 
place ;  keep  the  house  oixin  and  in  order  for  Mr. 
Meredith,  and  ready  against  her  return. 

Eva  went  home  and  made  the  proposal  to  Hannah. 
The  tears  and  smiles  came  over  Hannah's  face,  as  she 
said,  — 

"  Well,  now,  it  would  be  happy-like  to  be  working 
in  the  old  house  again  ;  but  I  should  miss  seeing  your 
face,  Miss  Eva,  sadly." 

"  O,  I  shall  run  over  and  see  how  j'ou  are  getting 
along,  very  often,'  was  the  reply. 

"And  I  wouldn't  like  to  stay  ar^er  the  lady  comes 
back,  3'ou  know,"  stipulated  Hannah. 


234  THE   CHILDREN  OP   AMITY   COURT. 

"  Of  course  not ;  I  don't  think  she  will  want  you  to 
do  that.  But  it  will  give  you  a  chance  to  find  rooms 
for  yourself,  and  I  think  there  *11  be  no  trouble  about 
your  finding  work." 

So  Hannah  agreed  to  keep  the  familiar  house,  now^ 
Mrs.  Meredith's,  open  and  in  order  while  the  ladies  were 
away. 

Mr.  Salsby,  calling  on  Mrs.  True  and  inquiring  for 
the  children,  heard  the  story  of  their  mother,  and  later 
proved  a  most  efficient  friend  in  securing  for  her  the 
work  she  wanted. 

It  was  nearly  sunset,  ten  long  weeks  from  the  bright 
June  morniag  when  Hannah  Craig  and  her  children 
left  their  quiet  home  to  go  to  New  York.  Mr.  Beeler 
had  just  locked  the  door  of  the  little  barber-shop, 
and  bowed  farewell  to  a  man  who  walked  away  down 
the  street.  Mr.  Beeler  passed  on,  and,  stopping  a 
moment,  looked  up  gravely  at  the  house-door  that  had 
so  long  been  closed.  He  sighed  and  shook  his  head, 
saying,  half  aloud,  — 

"  I  hope  it's  all  right.  The  man  is  good,  and  will 
be  a  sure  tenant.  She  wanted  it  let ;  but  why  does  n't 
she  write?" 

He  started  at  a  tug  upon  his  coat-skirt.  Jemmy 
Craig's  round  face  laughed  up  into  his,  as  he  cried,  — 

♦'  How  d'you  do,  Mr.  Beeler?" 

And  there  was  Hannah,  with  Nora,  hurrying  towards 


RESTORATIONS.  2-)5 

him.  lie  lookerf  «J1  sorts  of  jinxious  inquiries,  as  he 
shook  their  hands  warmly  ;  but  he  asked  no  questions, 
and  took  them  all  away  home  with  him  to  supper. 
There  his  soft-voiced,  sad-eyed  daughter,  Ceely,  come 
only  a  few  weeks  ago  from  Chicago,  gave  them  a 
kindly  welcome,  and  a  warm  tea  which  greatly  re- 
freshed Hannah,  and  was  certainly  well  patronized 
by  the  children. 

Hannah  insisted  on  returning  to  her  own  hou^e 
for  the  night ;  and,  the  long  pleasant  summer  evening 
favoring  her,  she  opened  and  aired  it,  and  had  begun 
to  feel  quite  at  home  in  it  once  more  before  she  fell 
asleep. 

Mr.  Beeler  had  found  a  desirable  customer  to  take 
the  lease  of  the  place  which  Hannah  could  no  longer 
use  to  advantage.  A  few  days  later,  and  the  change 
was  made.  Hannah  cleared  her  house,  packed  away 
her  furniture,  and  went  back  to  the  city,  where  Mrs. 
Meredith  had  impatiently  waited  for  her  two  days 
beyond  the  appointed  lime  for  their  departure.  When 
the  summer  days  were  over,  and  the  ladies  returned, 
Mr.  Salsby  had  repaired  and  refitted  in  tidy,  comfort- 
able fashion  the  end  house  in  Amity  Court ;  and  on 
the  first  floor  were  just  the  right  kind  of  two  rooms 
for  Hannah  Craig.  The  Cantons  were  made  quite 
comfortable  in  their  attic ;  and  though  they  worked 
busily  all  winter,  Bess  left  the  carpet-room,  and  had 


236  THE    CHILDREN    OF    AMITY    COURT. 

work  supplied  at  home.  Part  of  it  Was  sewing,  and 
part  was  helping  Hannah  iron^  for  which  she  had  her 
pay  by  the  hour,  and  at  which  she  sooil  became 
almost  as  expert  and  dainty  with  delicate  fabrics  as 
her  teacher,  Hannah,  herself. 

Mr.  Halsby  did  not  rest  when  he  had  repaired  the 
end  house  of  Amity  Court.  He  went  on  refitting  all 
the  buildings  he  owned  there.  When  it  was  half  done^ 
the  other  landlords  of  the  Court,  seeing  how  the  con- 
dition and  character  of  the  tenants  rose  with  the 
improvements,  followed  the  good  example,  and  Amity 
Court  grew  to  have  quite  a  different  appearance. 

"  It 's  fine  days  we  've  fallen  on,  when  the  landlords 
will  right  up  the  houses  for  us,"  said  Biddy  Crowley, 
as  she  surveyed  with  delight  her  enlarged  and  well- 
appointed  kitchen.     "  An'  ife'S  all  those  cHilder,  to6." 

And  throughout  the  place,  every  cheered  and  pleased 
tenant  of  a  neatly-kept  house  firmly  believes  to  this 
day  that  the  new  and  sadly-needed  improvements  all 
came  at  first  through  those  Six  ctlean^  industrious,  well- 
behaVed  children  of  Amity  Court. 


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